A million little pieces
by liliumweiss
Summary: Home for my tumblr prompts regarding Knightrook, Captain Swan and, possibly, Captain Swan Rook/Cygnet.
1. A matter of freedom

**Hello hello hello! This is the new hom for prompts I got on tumblr because, yes, I am open to prompts! Bit of advice: if you want me to write you something, I will, but I might also turn you down, especially if I don't feel like writing a certain pairing (other than CS or KR or CSRook/Cygned since to me Alice being their daughter would still be a cygnet anyways), but I guess you know who I do not like. Also, I don't write canon, otherwise I'd have to just write a canon complaint about the whole show, so nope. Just as I don't write canon, please, please, do not ask me to write little Hope in the story because I won't. I've made known I _hate_ that name for reasons that began a long time ago and have nothing to do with the show.**

 **This first would-be drabble is basically the only canon thing I've ever written, the famous "the exception proves the rule" thing. It, ah, became a biiiiit to angsty than I intended and decidedly too longer than what a drabble should be but oh well. Hope you like it!**

 **This said, let's begin ;)**

 **KR prompt: "Have you lost your damn _mind_?!"**

«Have you lost your damn _mind_?!»

He wasn't angry. He wasn't even mad. He was furious.

And this might have been the first time he ever got mad at her so much. Which didn't matter - not now, at least, but in a matter of hours oh, it totally would.

Joined realms or not, there was still a law to answer to - many laws for different Kingdoms, actually, but since they had decided to settle down in Storybrooke, at least for the moment, the city's law was the one - and with his cursed persona having been a detective plus his current position as Storybrooke deputy, he still followed the law.

Which was something his daughter, apparently, had forgotten. Or had probably ignored. Decidedly ignored.

She was toeing with the tip of her sneaker-cladded foot in the sand, her lips turned downwards partially in regret and partially angry that she'd been discovered.

«They wanted to be free.»

It was barely a whisper, but he heard it anyways, not only verbally but also emotionally, like someone punching a barely-healed wound. As much as he knew what it meant for Alice, he couldn't just forget about it. The streets were in chaos and who knew where they'd gone.

«It wasn't up to you to free them,» he scolded her, way too harsher than he actually intended. Killian could see it in her eyes, she was forcing herself not to cry, her crinkled forehead and her huge blue eyes now filled with tears were a dead giveaway.

Suddenly, Alice stood from the rock she was sitting on, the wind suddenly picking up and the waves crashing more loudly on the shore. «And it wasn't up to those people to lock them up just because they don't have a home!»

His heart broke again. Even if he wasn't cursed anymore, he couldn't help but feel pain at every reminder of his daughter's secluded life. «Unfortunately, Starfish, it is. I know you don't like it, but they're just doing their job. Many of those animals were sick…»

«But many were just in there! Forgotten!» _Like I've been forgotten_.

Alas, when you trigger a Jones' anger, the other Jones in their proximity will probably get angry too. Stubborn, the lot of them. «As I said,» he told her, clenching his jaw, «it wasn't up to you, no matter if they told you how they felt or if you just wanted to do something fun.» He knew he was being unfair, but Alice needed to understand she couldn't just do everything she wanted, that there were rules to follow and laws to obey. He'd explained it to her when she was little, but the Enchanted Forest and her situation were different from Storybrooke and the freedom she had now.

«Ha! That's rich coming from Captain-bloody-Hook himself!»

And with that, she stormed off, leaving Killian stunned on the shore, an ermine trying to sneak its way up into his jeans leg.

Rationally, he knew she was just upset and didn't mean it, but every time he was reminded of his past, well, it hurt him. He'd never denied he'd been a bad man, a villain, but he'd changed. He still was a pirate, of course, but the good kind – meaning: he had his methods to deal with outlaws. But when his own daughter had thrown those words at him, his heart felt dead in his chest once again.

He bent down and picked up the ermine, who climbed up his shoulder and wrapped around his neck, taking Killian aback a little. «Alright, mate, let's go back to the station,» he told the animal, making his way towards his car, hoping Alice would be home for dinner.

* * *

The moment he stepped inside, the pleasant smell of carry filled his nostrils. Killian raised his eyebrows, knowing Alice didn't know how to cook to save her life and that they'd not invited anyone, especially not someone who could cook – not that Killian would ever allow that, with being a gentleman and all.

He carefully made his way towards the kitchen, finding his daughter bent over the stove, trying not to burn whatever she was cooking. Perhaps Granny had taught her some recipe.

«Don't worry, I won't poison you,» Alice assured him, her back still to him. Only then he noticed a ball of white fur on the counter – a _rabbit_ – and a black tail sweeping the floor next to her. «And they're going back to the shelter tomorrow, I found them just before I reached home.» She turned around, not meeting his eyes, clearly still mad at him. «I've collected most of the others, Robin helped me, you know, drove me around town and maybe even a few realms too. But I got them.»

If there was something a parent hated was when their child made mistakes, but when they worked on those mistakes, solving them? That was one of the best feelings ever, because it showed them they didn't fail their kids when it came to teach them how right and wrong worked. In that moment, her words were forgotten and all Killian could feel was pride.

«'S alright,» he conceded, knowing he couldn't stay mad at her any longer, «as long as you bring them back tomorrow.»

Only then Alice met his eyes, smiling brightly. «I will! May I present you Blackbeard and Ingrid?»

Killian barked out a laugh and suddenly he couldn't stop until his stomach hurt. Gods, he'd always thought Blackbeard was a dog in the worst sense of the word, but that was something else.

«Oh! You found Pan!»

Her words brought him back to reality. «Pan?» he said, suddenly tense. The name of his former enemy still haunted him, it didn't matter that they'd already dealt with his Wishrealm counterpart – therefore the one who was real to him and no, he wouldn't get there or he'd end up with a headache.

«Pantalaimon! From _The Golden Compass_!»

«Ah, aye. You left him on the beach,» he mumbled as she stepped closer to gently grab the ermine from Killian's shoulder.

The mood changed suddenly. Killian cleared his throat, turning around to go change into more comfortable clothes.

Alice's arms stopped him as they sneaked around his middle and she buried her face between his shoulder blades. «I'm sorry,» she mumbled.

Turning around, Killian hugged her back, placing a kiss on the top of her head. «There's nothing to apologize for, Starfish.»

She shook her head into his chest, her curls bouncing at the movement. «No, there is! I said awful things and you didn't deserve it. I love every part of you, Papa.»

Tightening his grip around her, Killian rested his cheek on her head. «I love you too, Starfish.»

They stayed like that for long minutes – thankfully Alice had turned off the stove, otherwise whatever she was cooking would've been burned by now – in each other arms, basking in the feeling of finally being able to do that.

After a while, she mumbled something unintelligible against his chest. «What was that, Starfish?»

«You don't want to go to the bathroom.»

His eyebrows shot up in that weird way she'd always loved, especially when she was a child – a typical Jones trait. «Why's that?»

Still not moving her face from where it was hidden against his body, Alice said: «I, uh, ah, had to wash Blackbeard after he'd had a run in with a skunk and he didn't like it much…»

Killian closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose as he threw his head backwards. «Bloody Blackbeard.»


	2. Come alive

**This is exactly what happens when I let people prompt me for drabbles: I end up with long-ass one shots. Sorry Nonny, but I really really hope you enjoy this one!**

 **I wanted a twist on this one, and hehe, my professor kink kicked me hard ;)**

 **prompt #19. "the paint's supposed to go where?"**

«The paint's supposed to go _where_?»

His high-pitched voice surprised him, but nothing could actually surprise him anymore, not after Emma Swan's request.

Now, Killian Jones deemed himself as a gentleman and, if he could say so himself, even a good painter, which was also very objective since his paints were still exposed in galleries and he was one of the most renowned professors in the art department, but he'd never heard a request such like this one.

His former student raised her perfect blonde eyebrows. «I think the expression "body painting" speaks for itself, professor.»

Oh, now she was _mocking_ him? That wouldn't do. Looking at her from behind his black-rimmed glasses, Killian arched an eyebrow in return. «Aye, it does, Miss Swan. However, I can't quite figure out why you came to me. Surely there are more, ah, talented colleagues of yours that would gladly help you.»

He cursed himself, knowing how his words could sound, as if he wouldn't gladly help her himself. And oh, he would really, really _gladly_ help her out of her clothes and paint her perfect skin. And maybe help her washing it after.

Emma's cheeks turned a nice shade of red. «I know but… I wouldn't trust anyone else as much as I would you, professor Jones.»

God probably wanted to take his soul in that very moment with a flaming sword camouflaged as Emma's words. He should probably stop with Renaissance paintings and their meanings. He couldn't, Renaissance art was one of his courses. He was a genius.

«A-and I'd have to… paint your whole body?» He was really pissed at his own voice and how it broke at the word "body".

Blushing even more, Emma nodded, her curls bouncing and if she'd been alive in Florence many centuries ago she would've rivalled Simonetta Vespucci's beauty, becoming Botticelli's muse herself. _She would be a perfect representation of the Birth of Venus_. It wasn't the first time he thought about that. He wanted to paint her. He already had. Somehow, during the months in which she'd attended his classes, Emma Swan had become his muse.

 _And you're just like Botticelli, destined to love her from afar and have her live forever in your paintings because she will never be yours_.

Forcing those thoughts out of his head, Killian wetted his lips. «How many… _paintings_ should I do?» he carefully asked, not wanting to give her the impression that he was already accepting – or that he was eager to work on her naked body. Which he was, but she didn't need to know. Bad form and all that.

«Four.»

He fought to not close his eyes and let his mind wander. Instead, he kept looking at her, staring into her green eyes, capturing his soul like only a muse could. «May I ask why this sudden interest in body painting? I'm totally fine with it, though I admit I never had the pleasure of painting a person before, if you don't count my niece's face for Halloween.» Of course he had to tell her about his niece and their ritual. God _really_ wanted him dead today.

The sweet smile that blossomed on her lips brightened her whole face. He hoped Liam still had Hades' phone; the man was creepy but he was good with funerals. That… didn't sound good, not even in his mind.

«It's for a course, I need to represent what art is to me.»

 _Ah_ , Killian knew which professor had given her such a task. Belle was a romantic, which was why her photos could range from making you feel heartbroken to making you cry because the emotion you could _feel_ just staring at them filled your whole heart. It wasn't such a strange assignment, and he probably knew what she was thinking about.

«What exactly would you like to have painted on your body?»

Without a word, she handed him the folder she was torturing with her fingers as she sat in front of him. Killian opened it, finding the outline of a woman in some kind of dancing position, her body half human and half swan with a tiara on her head. _Act II_ was what was written on the top right corner of the page. Four different drawings, four different poses and representations.

«I've always loved the _Swan Lake_ , my mother used to bring me to the ballet every Christmas.» Emma's voice drew him away from his thoughts. «I never wanted to be a ballerina, but I loved how they moved. I used to sketch them as they rehashed, their movements and expressions, how they seemed to _become_ art itself.»

«Say no more, lass,» he told her, «I'll help you be the ballerina you never were.»

* * *

«That tickles.»

Killian let out a soft chuckle. «Sorry, Swan,» he apologized, his eyebrows knitted together as he focused on perfectly shading the area around her navel. This was the last act, the one that would culminate in the death of the swan and her soulmate, their swan song.

Due to their respective engagements, they could work only on weekends, though he would work on the sketches to better recreate them on canvas so he wouldn't have to take too much time away to paint her. It didn't matter that, after the first time, he wanted to paint her skin over and over again.

The first time it had nearly costed him his coronaries and sanity, not to mention a new pair of pants. Because of course she would be completely naked and _of bloody course_ she would have every hair of her body removed.

He would lie if he said he wasn't relieved by the fact that she seemed slightly uncomfortable and extremely embarrassed too. But Killian Jones wasn't just a gentleman, he was a professional, he had many models, both male and female, standing naked in front of him, whether he had to be the one to paint them or to teach his students a perfect technique. Mastering a level self-control he didn't know he could reach, Killian had painted Emma's whole body, carefully working on every detail. Of course there'd been lingering touches and soft sounds he knew were moans, but both of them had kept a professional attitude and never acted on them.

Killian had started calling her Swan after act two, when he'd singsonged a verse of _This is my idea_ from _The Swan Princess_ – a favourite of his niece he'd watched enough times to have learned it by heart – and she'd flushed so red he could see it from below the white paint.

One thing Killian was relieved of was that he didn't have to paint her most intimate parts, just having to deal with her perfect breasts and amazing arse – "just" was probably the wrong word. He would leave that to Emma, bot for his own sanity and hers, though he still had to keep his eyes from roaming down the expanse of her creamy skin, golden freckles scattered about like stars in the sky.

«It's fine, really, it's just different from when I used to do it myself.»

Killian hummed. «Like when you try to tickle yourself to see how you react but nothing actually happens?»

«Exactly!» she replied, almost jumping up from where she was sitting. «Sorry, sorry.»

He chuckled, shaking his head. «Don't fret, Swan, I'm almost done.»

The scene he'd painted on her skin was tragedy come to life, it amazed him how she'd managed to sketch something so painful at the sight. Belle would end up crying for sure. He probably would, too, the pain in his own strokes, the meaning of eternal death at the hand of an evil sorcerer, but also hope of being together even after death.

« _Death cannot stop true love, all it can do is delay it for a while_.»

Emma's voice shook him out of his thoughts. «Aye, I suppose.»

«Have you ever been in love?»

 _No_ , he wanted to tell her, dark memories threatening to come to the surface. «Aye, I've been in love, once.» His voice was harsh, but he couldn't help it.

«I'm sorry.»

Killian looked up at her face, green irises filled with understanding, showing him she too had been burned. He gave her a half smile that didn't reach his eyes. «Aye, love, me too.» He finished painting her body in silence, his mind shying away from the demons of his past.

Once he was done, he let her up, allowing her to go apply the last of the paint on her, ah, womanhood. He didn't really want to know the details. Or rather, he _did_ , but he didn't want to sound creepy and his interest wouldn't involve paint at all.

When she came out from her bathroom, her hair still pulled up in a perfect ballerina bun save for two strands curling at the sides of her face, Emma put herself in position, in front of the camera placed on a tripod.

It was like seeing art coming to life for real, the way her twisted position gave him a sensation of anguish, as if he was witnessing the death of the two lovers in front of his eyes. Belle would have to give Emma a perfect score: she _aced_ it.

The moment Emma was finished after controlling how the photos had come out, she always slipped on her robe, as if she was suddenly shy about being naked in front of him whilst she hadn't had a problem during the long hours of painting. Killian couldn't say he didn't understand, though: it was like entering a different world, one where you were vulnerable, when there was no paint to hide behind, no mask, only raw emotions.

«I'd better be going,» he muttered, his eyes fixated onto the ground and her black-painted toes.

Emma nodded, preceding him to the door. «I guess we'll see each other around. I can't thank you enough, but if there's something I can do, name it. Please.»

Killian shook his head. «Don't mention it, Swan, it was my pleasure, really.» She was about to retort when he placed a finger onto her white lips. «I'm serious, love, you don't need to repay the favour.»

Without another word from neither of them, Killian gave her a half smile and exited her apartment, feeling as if he'd just lost everything.

* * *

Which, apparently, he had. It'd been three weeks and he had not painted anything. Oh, he'd tried for sure, but he just wasn't satisfied with any of his paintings.

One of the bad traits of a Jones was the stubbornness, which concerned also the matters of the heart. _Especially_ those, apparently. Slowly, or perhaps all of a sudden, he'd found himself falling for Emma Swan. He wouldn't call it love, not yet, but he was enamoured with her, and not only in an artistic kind of way, but especially as a person. Painting a person took time, and the long hours spent in her company had allowed him to get to know her.

His boots creaked onto the fallen snow, souring his mood even more, the red scarf wrapped around his neck managing to just suffocate him and making him feel uncomfortably warm. Brooding, that was what he was doing, or so Belle had called it.

«Killian!»

His entire body whipped around at the sound of her voice and he had to take a few steps back when Emma's foot skidded on a patch of ice and barrelled right into him. Instinctively, Killian wrapped his arms around her, helping her to steady herself.

«Easy there, Swan.»

«Sorry! Sorry! I just wanted to thank you. Again. Professor French gave me the highest score and complimented me. I just… thank you, really. I wouldn't have made it without you.»

Killian's heart burst in his chest at her words. «No, Emma, the credit belongs only to you. You came up with the idea and the drawings, I just lent you a hand. I didn't do much.»

As much as he would _never_ complain about what happened next, Killian would say he expected actual words from Emma, not her jumping into his arms and kissing the holy hell out of him right in the middle of the campus.

Her lips were soft under his and tasted of chocolate and cinnamon.

Too soon, Emma pulled away, her cheeks a bright red. «Sorry, I shouldn't ha-»

Killian cut her off with another kiss that Emma responded to kissing him back and circling his neck with her arms, raising herself onto her tiptoes until Killian lifted her, making her giggle against her mouth.

He wondered if her laugh could inspire him to play his guitar again.

(It did.)

(And he got to have her as a model just like she had him pose for her.)

(Killian eventually got to paint her most private parts, and he had to say chocolate was an amazing kind of paint.)

(And if they had albums full of sketches of them naked and a touch too erotic, well, it was their damn business.)

(They really hoped their children would never find them, though.)


	3. That's what I call crazy

**Oh my god. Oh god this is hilarious. You have no idea xD There's a bit of backstory for this prompt, namely me actually doing that.**

 **I was 12 and he was 13, played basketball, not hockey, and played the guitar. You know what else? He had black hair and blue eyes. Yep. God, I went to almost every home game with my friends who had crushes on him, too. And once we were two of them and the guy who told us at which hour the game was had gotten it wrong so we went to the indoor sport arena and the team was there, but sat on the bleachers as they waited for the gymnasts to end their lesson before playing.**

 **Unfortunately for me, the meet cute didn't happen, but eh, I needed to give Emma hers. I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for this prompt, really, I had fun :D**

 **"Hi! for the winter writing prompts could you 26. "i'm constantly dragging all my friends to your hockey games because i think you're so much fun to watch and i don't think you'll ever notice me" thank you! :) oh God I think I forgot the pairing lol for CS :)"**

Emma Nolan didn't like hockey. Like, at all. She didn't despise it, but she didn't love it either. She just… accepted its existence and it ended there. Until it didn't.

You see, Emma Nolan grew up in a farm in the outskirts of the little town of Storybrooke and had two brothers. Said brothers, David and James Nolan, _loved_ hockey, it was, apparently, the only thing that reminded them of their father, who'd died not long after Emma's birth. She could understand that, and respected their passion for the game. What she couldn't understand, though, was them making fun of her for not liking hockey. Apparently, the twins couldn't just comprehend that she simply did not like it, claiming she had because it was "the best sport ever". Which was rich coming from them, since they wouldn't play hockey but just watch it.

So Emma endured her brothers' jabs, rolling her eyes all too often she was worried they'd get stuck in the back of her head as her mother usually said and ignoring all the times they tried to drag her to one of the games.

This went on for _years_ , the stubborn brothers never giving up, just like she never gave in. That is, until Emma didn't get into high school.

It actually didn't happen until she was in junior year and her brothers in senior year, but it happened anyways. What happened, you ask? Well, Killian Jones did.

Killian Jones, senior year student and troublemaker with perfect grades, eyes as blue as the sea after a storm and dark chocolate mousse hair she longed to touch. Ah, and he was the captain of Storybrooke's hockey team.

She'd seen him for the first time as she made her way to class the first day of school. The music classroom's door was open and he was inside, strumming on an acoustic guitar, his knuckles the wrong shade of green and his lower lip recently split open.

Being the type of girl that wasn't exactly shy but who didn't also deal well with emotions she didn't know, Emma ran away without being seen, the notes of _Smells Like Teen Spirit_ following her, _haunting_ her for an entire week, because it somehow found a way to her, whether it was on the radio or one of her brothers humming it because _of course_ they loved Nirvana.

What haunted her, though, wasn't just the song, but also _him_. Emma knew about him, but had never actually seen him before, if not from far, far away.

Fortunately for her, none of her friends had caught her staring at Killian with heart-shaped eyes, or the fact that she didn't snap at her brothers' jokes anymore – and Heaven forbid they discovered the two photos she had secretly snapped while he was playing his guitar when she'd stayed a bit too long at school just because she hoped she'd run into him or something. She _probably_ had read too many romantic novels: meet cutes didn't exist in real life.

So she avoided Killian, which was absurd: he didn't know her, he probably didn't even know she existed.

It was late September and she was reading _A discovery of witches_ when she was abruptly disturbed by her brother James falling on her from over the couch's seatback, his head sneaking under her arms and onto her lap, looking up at her with light blue eyes.

«Hey, little sister, wanna join us today? Storybrooke vs. Portland, a big one.»

When thinking about it years in the future, Emma would remember how her mind went completely blank and just shut down, which resulted in her almost screaming a "yes".

Saying James was astonished would be a euphemism. He jumped up, running towards the stairs, calling out for David. «Dave! Emma is coming with us!»

Even her mother was surprised, but didn't say anything, just smiling and kissing her children on the cheeks on their way out.

With her face as red as a tomato, Emma decided she couldn't do it, not alone – and her brothers weren't exactly what she would call "moral support" – so she called her friends. Calling Ruby and Mary Margaret, though, meant saying out loud she had a crush on Killian Jones, and she couldn't do it with her brothers within earshot.

 _SOS: heading to hockey game with Tweedledee and Tweedledum. KJ will be there. SOS._

Now, putting two SOS in the same sentence would alarm her friends, but it would do. In fact, they were there in less than ten minutes, neither of them wondering who this KJ was – they already knew – and not questioning why Emma needed them there, leaving the questions to her brothers. Or, well, brother, since David was too occupied looking open-mouthed at Mary Margaret.

 _Oh_. Emma had no idea. _Good to know_.

«Why are you here?» James asked them.

Ruby, the only one of the three who wasn't dealing with anxiety, lifted her chin in challenge. «After _years_ of you trying to have her to come to the games with you, you're asking _what we are doing here_? Moral support, of course! The girl is going to be thrown to the wolves, and you won't be much of help.»

James blushed at her outburst; David would've too, but he was too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

No one asked more stupid questions and they made their way inside.

Watching Killian Jones playing hockey was as fascinating as watching him playing the guitar. On the ice he was wild, _free_. Emma couldn't see much of him from where she was, but her eyes were always trained on him, even if he wasn't the one with the puck, she just couldn't take her eyes off him.

With each game she attended, Emma started to understand the rules, and it surprised her how much of a rooter she became, even going as far as buying herself a scarf of the team and starting to cheer out loud, even coming this close to losing her voice.

Every time, Emma would drag her friends with her. Mary Margaret found it cute, but she also used it as a way to spend time with David, the two of them almost immediately becoming a couple; Ruby, on the other hand, just rolled her eyes and shook her head, always trying to push Emma to talk to Killian. Emma would never dare, just the thought enough to make her heart beat so fast it would just take flight.

It all came crashing down on her the last game before Thanksgiving.

You see, Emma had never known the team's schedule, she just followed her brothers every time they told her there would be a game they could actually attend. When both James and David had decided to drive all the way to Boston the day before to find the perfect gift for their mother's birthday and would drive back home only later today, leaving Emma all alone before the game since her friends couldn't go due to pre-Thanksgiving engagements.

 _Wonderful, really, really wonderful_ , she thought gritting her teeth as she drove her yellow bug towards the ice rink.

When she entered the parking lot, though, she couldn't help but frown. There was no other car in sight. Panic started to flow through her as she rushed to the phone, immediately calling David.

« _Yes?_ »

«The game is today, isn't it?»

« _Of course it is! This is_ the _game_.»

Ah, yes, how could she forgot, the one against the Privateers, their number one enemy.

«Then why is nobody here?»

A moment of silence fell between them.

« _Oh, fuck!_ »

Emma's eyes widened. David rarely cursed. «What?»

« _We, ah, might have told you the wrong time?_ »

«You _what_?!» Emma screamed through the phone, and if her brother would become deaf after that well, she would only say he had it coming.

« _Sorry! It was a honest mistake, Ems!_ »

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Emma closed her eyes. «Tell me.»

« _The game is in four hours_.»

No, her brother would _definitely_ be deaf by the time he came home. « _Four hours_?» she yelled through her phone, wanting to punch him or kick is ass or _anything_ , really. «Alright, you know what? Don't say anything, I don't want to know. Just hope I won't freeze to death out here. And you better buy me something nice. And chocolate. Loads of chocolate. And you'll do my chores for a week. Or four.» With that, she ended the call, throwing her phone into her bag.

She didn't dare going back home, though it would've been the smartest choice, but she felt ashamed, and she didn't want to ask her mother's question about her recent passion for hockey. Until now, Ruth hadn't said anything, but probably because Emma was finally nurturing a passion that didn't mean always staying at home or being so closed-off.

Her first hope was finding the ice rink open. It wasn't. _Of course_ it wasn't. Emma waited and waited in the cold, not wanting to go somewhere in Storybrooke in fear of being questioned about the game. Even though she'd attended many, Storybrooke Pirates were still a little town's team and those who attended were either family or friends – or, in David and James' case, people who really loved hockey, but there weren't many of them – and she'd never bonded with anyone, always staying there on her seat, cheering when they scored and booing when the other teams did.

Fortunately for her, Emma always had a book with her wherever she went. Wrapped up in her woollen scarf, in the cold of her bug, she sat and fell into another imaginary world.

The main couple was just about to finally kiss when a light tapping against her window made her jump so high she hit her head against the roof. «Fuck,» Emma exclaimed, her hand flying to the spot where she'd hit her head.

Looking out of the window, Emma's heart did something she didn't think was supposed to happen. Her furious eyes were met with startled blue ones, eyes belonging to the same boy she'd been pining after for months, the one she'd come watching his hockey games for. _Fuck indeed_.

Blood immediately rushed to her face as she closed her book and opened the car door.

«I'm sorry, love, I hadn't figured you were so engrossed in your book.»

 _Fuck me he's got an accent_. Her mind didn't focus on the fact that he'd called her "love". Nope. «'S alright, I guess,» she muttered, grateful that she was still holding onto the door because she couldn't feel her knees anymore.

Killian offered her a smile and if she'd not been almost freezing herself over, Emma would've melted onto the concrete. «You're here for the game?»

It was such a stupid question, yet she found herself nodding. «Yeah. I know I'm early.» It was such a stupid observation to make, but apparently her brain-mouth filter had melted away at Killian's smile.

Surprisingly enough, Killian blushed too, the tips of his ears as red as strawberries. They were adorable. «Aye, I get what you mean, I'm early myself. But I have the keys… if you want to come inside?» His blush deepened at those words as he lifted his hand, said keys dangling from his index finger. «I-I mean, it would be much warmer than your bug. And we could get some hot chocolate. It's not Granny's, but it's good. Or tea. Or coffee, if you'd rather.»

Was he… No, he wasn't asking her out, that was ridiculous. He probably just had pity of her. At that thought, Emma was about to tell him no, but a cold breeze sent her shivers down her body and her teeth even began to clatter.

«T-that would be awesome,» she replied, careful not to bit off her own tongue.

«Follow me, then.»

The first thing Killian did when they entered was turning on the lights and the heat before heading straight to the cafeteria.

Emma didn't know exactly what to do, she'd never been alone at a game, and now she was alone with _him_ and he was about to prepare her something hot to drink.

«I'm afraid I'm not a barista, I don't know how to make fancy drinks,» Killian excused himself. He still had his bag slung over his shoulder.

Emma shook her head. «Don't worry, just a hot chocolate is fine. Please.»

With a wide smile and a wink that had Emma's stomach make somersaults, he prepared two paper cups full of hot chocolate in no time. When he asked her if she wanted whipped cream on top, she nodded her head yes, unable of saying anything.

They were sat at one of the round tables, steaming hot chocolates in front of them and an awkward silence filling the air.

«It's unnerving, you know?» he asked her, his blush never disappearing, «you know my name but I don't know yours.»

Emma wanted to slap herself. Her brain must be seriously damaged to forget even a simple task such introducing oneself. «I'm sorry, I should've done it in the parking lot. I'm Emma. Emma Nolan.» She even stuck out her hand out of habit. _God_.

Next time she went to Whale, she must have her heart checked, because the way it started to beat when Killian Jones not only touched her as he took her hand in his but even brought it to his freaking lips was decidedly not healthy at all.

«It's a pleasure, Emma.»

She should speak to Graham too. You know, to prohibit Killian to say her name out loud. It was simply illegal. Could she die because of his voice? She probably could. This was murder. Or attempted murder, whatever.

«May I ask you why you were here so early?»

And then he would go and ruin the murder. _Amazing_. «My brothers. They fucked up. I'll make them pay.»

That… wasn't exactly what she wanted to say, but now the words were out of her mouth and she couldn't take them back. Nor she wanted to the moment Killian Jones threw his head back and laughed. God, even his laugh was a menace for her sanity. What was sanity anyway?

«I'm sorry,» he apologized still laughing, «I shouldn't laugh of your misadventures, which I'm not, by the way. I just loved how you said you'll make them pay.»

Was she still alive? It seemed so, but she wasn't sure of anything anymore. «My chores for four weeks _and_ lots of chocolate from Boston.»

Killian whistled, smiling at her. «Oh, you devil. Don't worry, I won't tell them I let you in.» And then he winked and Emma was on her way to Heaven.

They chatted for a bit about older brothers and she discovered he had an older one, too, Liam, who did his best to attend every game when he wasn't working.

Alas, their time alone came to an end when Killian's teammates entered the rink. He introduced her to them, though she already knew their names by now. It felt… nice, the way they talked to her and made her feel part of something. She ever felt like this only with Ruby and Mary Margaret and her brothers, never with someone she'd just known.

«C'mon, Jones, coach will want us to be in perfect shape today, so kiss your girlfriend goodbye and come get ready to kick the Priv's asses.»

The team left them in the cafeteria to blush as bright as Rudolph's red nose. Killian opened and closed his mouth as if to say something. «I-I'm sorry, I'll go tell them you're not my girlfriend and…»

«I like you,» Emma blurted out, her eyes squeezed shut. Remember the already gone brain-mouth filter? These are the consequences people will face when it happens. «It's the reason why I came to the games. I hate hockey. Well, no, not anymore, not quite? But I came to see you and after the first time I couldn't stop. I even dragged my friends with me and they offered me moral support, and also tried to push me to talk to you but I never did.» Her lungs were on fire and her eyes still closed, the fear of rejection burning her from the inside. Emma wanted to cry and run away from there. Hopefully, she would manage it backwards, she'd made a fool of herself already.

Silence stretched for minutes, hours, ages, she probably died standing, until she felt a warm hand close around hers. «I quite fancy you from time to time, especially when you're yelling at me.»

That made her open her eyes. Killian was close, way closer than he'd been earlier, his bright eyes boring into hers. «You knew who I was.»

With his free hand he scratched behind his ear. «Aye, well, it's difficult to miss you,» Killian admitted, his face aflame, too. A whistle interrupted their moment, making them jump. «Bloody hell, I have to go. I, uh, I'd love to take you out, sometimes? On a date, I mean. If you want.»

Emma wondered if her mother would mind bringing her to check on her eyes too because they widened so much it _hurt_. «For real?»

Killian nodded, a goofy smile on his lips. Another whistle and his name barked out in fury surprised them. «The first goal is for you,» he told her as he stepped backwards, turning around only when he was outside the cafeteria.

Still unable to process what had just happened, Emma ran in the direction he went. «Don't think I'm taking my eyes off you for a second!» she yelled, the corners of her lisp curling up in a smile.

He turned around, still jogging backwards. «I would despair if you did!»

At the end of the game, after almost losing her voice again, Emma ran towards the only spot where there wasn't any barrier and pulled Killian into a searing kiss, earning catcalls and whistles from everyone – save for her brothers, who wore identical (pun intended) shocked expressions on their faces.

«I thought our first kiss would be more… romantic,» he told her, no bothered at all by her action, certainly not caring about her hands still gripping the front of his jersey.

Emma laughed, blushing gracefully. «Sorry, I just wanted an epic moment. Adrenaline, or whatever. You can have romantic on our first date, though.»

Killian quirked his eyebrows, making her laugh, embarrassed. Who knew a good game and the absence of that famous filter would turn her into someone so impulsive? She certainly didn't regret it, not even if it was her first kiss ever and had happened in front of an audience.

Burying her face in his neck, Emma smiled broadly. She might not have loved hockey, but enduring it for the guy that turned into her boyfriend and then years later into her husband? It was totally worth it.


	4. Of juicy candy canes and stuffed stockin

**The lovely hookedonhiddles wanted me to write smut, so smut it is! From the prompts: "why don't you sit on Santa's lap and we'll talk about whatever comes up?/your stocking won't be the only thing that gets stuffed tonight/santa's not the only one coming tonight".**

 **This… escalated. A lot. And god, how many christmas sex puns one can come up with.**

 **On my tumblr you can find the links to see the "elf" costume Emma wears and what she wears under it ;)**

 **Of juicy candy canes and stuffed stockings**

Emma was going to kill Mary Margaret. Well, come tomorrow she would already have forgotten what happened and what she had to endure – and even her own name, to be honest – but this wasn't the point.

Emma was going to kill Mary Margaret, David, Graham _and_ probably the entire mall. God, how awful was it to wanting to murder tiny human beings even if they were absurdly loud? She would probably end up in the naughty list for the rest of her life _and_ in her future lives or afterlife, whatever one believed there was after death. She was going to hell anyway.

Why couldn't she have a silly elf costume like the ones in the movies? Why couldn't she just have told M's no? Why did she go back to her non-Grinch ways for the split of a second that it took her to say yes?

«Tug another time on those stockings and I'll make sure to have your precious bug turn bright pink.»

Ah, _that_ 's why she had not turned Mary Margaret down. It made sense. You see, Mary Margaret Blanchard – sorry, _Nolan_ – didn't have half measures: she just did everything she said, which included threats. Emma knew it all too well. In college, in fact, M's had threatened her to change the locks of the apartment they shared if she told David how she really felt about him. She had it done. Overnight.

So yes, Emma _immediately_ stopped pulling at the candy cane stockings that itched her skin as if she had a rash. Of course, threatening Emma's precious Bug would result in a feud of sorts, but she'd agreed to it and now it was too late to back off.

«Good.» M's smiled brightly, the hat askew on her head making her look like an actual elf, problem was she wasn't wearing a goddamn sexy Santa helper outfit, _Emma_ was. Black pumps, candy cane stockings with red ribbons, an obscene minidress with a furry hem parents would frown upon, some kind of gloves that weren't gloves at all and the hat. Oh, but the worst part? The bell hanging from a ribbon around her neck.

It was surprising that design came from Mary Margaret's hands, her friend looked more like a badass version of Snow White, not a kinky one. Fuck, _Emma_ wasn't into BDSM herself. Okay, _okay_ , she _did_ have a few – many – kinks, but one thing she was not was an exhibitionist.

«Are you sure parents won't complain?» she asked for the umpteenth time. One thing was dressing up for her honey traps, another was dressing like this and stay all day under children's eyes.

M's waved her off. «Nah, this is the third year we use these dresses and nobody complained.»

 _Yeah, sure, fathers_ surely _won't_ , Emma thought bitterly, tugging at the skirt so it would fall lower on her thighs. She just mustn't bend over for any reason. Or kneel. That would be disastrous too.

She was about to ask if she could take off the goddamned bell, but Mary Margaret was already off _loudly_ remembering someone, probably the new Santa, that he had to wear the fake belly. Emma sighed, shaking her head, the golden locks she'd carefully curled that morning bouncing around her.

 _Poor Santa_ , she found herself thinking as she heard Mary Margaret's indignant cry, said Santa had probably dared to contradict her.

Although Emma was not what people called a Grinch, she was miles and miles away from being like Mary Margaret, a regular Christmas bridezilla. Christmaszilla? Was it even a word? Well, when it came to M's, Christmas was a big affair: decorations went up the moment Cyber Monday ended – it had been a pact between her and David reached in ways Emma didn't want to know; when in the car with her, no matter _whose_ , only Christmas songs would play, from instrumentals to hits; gingerbread cookies and other Christmas sweets would _always_ be offered to any guests; she would put up the lights herself, no matter if two years ago she'd been five months pregnant almost hanging from the roof; the tree would have to respect certain standards and it didn't matter if she would have to visit two farms or ten, she would get the _perfect_ tree; at least something she was wearing had to be Christmas-y, including underwear or socks or even headbands.

«Emma!»

Wincing at her friend's voice, Emma lost track of the mental list she was doing, hurrying towards M's before she could have a breakdown of sorts. Nah, M's wouldn't, she would wait until one second into December 26th to have one.

Trying not to put a sway in her walk – she wasn't going for the sexy Santa helper, but the chaste one, after all – Emma reached Mary Margaret, who was standing next to a grumpy Santa Claus. _This is going to be great_ , she groaned to herself, plastering a smile on her face to mask her annoyance.

«Good, you're here. This is Killian. Killian, Emma; she'll be your helper during the days here, along with Tink.»

 _Oh_ , of course, the pixie-named blonde would also be an elf. Which was amazing, because Emma liked her even if they'd met just a few times over the years. What she wasn't sure about was having a new Santa.

No, scratch that, it was definitely a pro: last year's Christmas had Mary Margaret on the verge of tears with the way the man she'd hired as Santa Claus had showed up drunk on Christmas Eve. It'd taken the mall owner, Liam, stepping in and taking his place to calm M's down.

«It's a pleasure, lass.»

 _Fuck. Me_. Santa had an accent. And he was gorgeous. Sure, she couldn't see much under the fake beard and the wig, but she could see his eyes, so blue like the summer sky or the sea after a storm. He cocked a white fake eyebrow at her.

«Nice to meet you,» Emma said, taking the hand he was offering her, immediately sobering up. It had been quite a lot since the last time she'd had a romp in the bed with someone, and certainly masturbating couldn't be compared to the real thing, but fantasticating about _Santa_ , no matter how fake he was, just because he was a male and had gorgeous eyes? _This is too much even for you, Swan_ , she scolded herself.

But then, of course, Santa decided to be a gentleman and bring her hands to his lips to kiss it. Heat shot through her, making her blush despite the strange feeling of both the fake and very much real beards scratching her skin.

In that moment, Emma knew she was oh oh oh so fucked.

* * *

During the following weeks, Emma developed some kind of friendship with Killian – who, she discovered, was Liam's little – _younger!_ – brother. Oh, she also developed a _crush_ on him, which was unheard of: Emma Swan didn't do crushes, she did one-night stands.

Yet…

Killian Jones always brought her hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon before the day started, sometimes with goodies he would sneak out of the pastry shop he owned – because of course Santa guy owned a freaking pastry shop – and basically had her giving him opinions about his creations, which, by the way, were sinfully delicious. He also flirted with her, but in a non-threatening way; Emma knew, though, that he was serious: if she wanted, he would really take her out on a day and show her a good time. Emma also didn't care about doing those things in that particular order.

What stopped her were her failed attempts at a relationship before, scars that had healed, kind of, but still hurt. Phantom pain, that was the right name: she knew she could love and be loved, but doubts kept creeping in and she always found herself running.

One November Sunday night, after the mall had closed up for the day, he'd brought her to the lab behind the pastry shop and they made rum chocolate cookies. While waiting for the cookies to bake, they'd shared what was left of the rum bottle while sat in front of the oven and shared their pasts along with it.

He'd told her how he'd kept his little shop in London until a little less than a year before, when he'd been literally left at the altar by an older woman he thought he loved. She knew the feeling all too well. In fact, she had even told him about her exes and how the first one had sent her to jail when she was still a manor. For a moment, she'd feared he would end up breaking the rum bottle and cutting his hand open. It wasn't a shitty night, just a shitty topic, but at least the cookies were pretty darn good. Okay, they were _bloody_ amazing.

Ah, that night he also confessed the whole Santa thing was because he'd lost a silly bet to his brother, which she laughed about, only to sober up at the thought that they were similar: they both didn't back down from a challenge. It scared her. But it also _thrilled_ her.

They weren't dating, they were… hanging out. And exchanging funny and sad stories about their pasts. In a mall. Around Christmas. It sounded like a freaking Hallmark movie.

There was also another problem: Killian Jones, besides being a wonderful man despite he didn't believe so, was hot as hell.

Many nights, even if exhausted, she'd fallen into bed and didn't fall asleep before taking out her magic wand and getting herself off while thinking about him. It didn't help the days after those nights, when she had to work all day next to him, buzzing with arousal as if someone had charged her with sexual frustration.

The more she masturbated thinking of him, the more she couldn't stop thinking about him. Of course, she wasn't a pervert and _did_ have feelings, which was why she'd tried to stay the hell away from him. Emma was a coward, because she knew that, if she gave in to her primal urges, it would have consequences on her growing friendship with Killian. The real question was: did she have the courage to take that step forward she needed and that she knew Killian _desired_ her to do?

Her first answer was a harsh no, but then she'd stumbled upon one of the shops she'd never seen. It was a lingerie shop. And a sex shop. Once inside, Emma's knees became suddenly weak. The exposed lingerie was _stunning_ , the accessories kinky and she wanted to try all of them, not to mention the toys.

Three days before Christmas Eve, Emma made her decision: she was going to seduce Santa Claus.

Working with a corset was excruciating, but nothing compared to working with a corset _and_ a thong. She had to be even more careful when moving, and while it wasn't the first time she wore nice lingerie, Emma still felt embarrassed.

During the day, both Killian and M's asked her if she was alright, worried. How exactly could she explain her deep blush was caused by the smoking hot lingerie she was wearing? M's would probably faint on the spot, Killian would die of embarrassment, probably of spontaneous combustion starting from his ears.

«Are you sure I can go?»

Emma bit back a sigh, smiling gently at Mary Margaret as she adjusted the hat on her head. «M's, it's fine. The mall will close soon, and then we're both going on our way. I'll be there by eight, don't worry.»

«But-»

«Go! Go make me your wonderful chocolate cake or I won't show up!» Emma laughed, gently pushing her away.

It was five hours later, her feet _hurting_ and back aching, that she finally sat down.

«Come on, Swan, we need to change and get out of here,» Killian said, stretching his arms, his beard and wig gone.

Emma scoffed. «Of course you're not that tired, you didn't have to stand in heels for hours.»

He quirked his eyebrow at her, a grin on his face that should be deemed illegal. «You want to sit on Santa's lap, too?»

Now, that just asked for a sultry reply.

Passing the tip of her tongue on her lower lip, enjoying his eyes abruptly descending onto her mouth, Emma then sensually bit it. «That's precisely what's on my Christmas list of things to do.»

Killian's jaw dropped, and it was only because it was attached to his face that it didn't hit the floor.

She pulled herself up, walking to him with a sway in her hips. «Does Santa still accept requests?» Emma asked him, batting her thick eyelashes, her hand coming up to gently shut his mouth with two fingers under his chin.

To her amusement, Killian had to open and close his mouth many times before he could remember how to talk again. «Emma, I… I hoped to take you out on a date before-»

«But Santa,» she whined, faking a pout, «I've been dying to sit on your lap.»

Killian threw his head backwards, groaning.

They were still in front of the tall Christmas tree at the center of the mall, the lights around them slowly being turned off.

«Come with me, you naughty elf,» he told her, grabbing her hand and leading her to the changing room. Emma followed him with a giggle, a surprise even for her. «They'll be all gone in ten minutes. And I know how to turn down a few of the security cameras.» Suddenly, he turned serious. «Whatever might happen is up to you, Emma, I won't force you into something you don't want. I _do_ want you, I think I've made it clear, but if you don't want me the same way I want you, I will understand.»

Touched by his attentions, Emma smiled at him. «Go take care of those cameras, Santa, this naughty lass needs to take care of something first.» With those words and a wink, she turned around, entering the changing room M's had set up for her and Tink.

With the corset and the thong, in fact, came also a set of nude stockings with a red line and a bow printed on the back and hooks to keep them up, which would be hidden under the skirt.

Once she'd changed, Emma went back outside, darkness surrounding her. Her heart started to beat frantically in her chest, tattooing itself against her flesh.

«Santa?» she called out a bit hesitant, approaching the tree from the front where the red carpet was still laid out. In the moonlight coming from the glass dome above them, she could clearly see someone sat on the throne.

«Aye, lass?»

A thrill of excitement ran down her spine at Killian's voice, so sultry and laced with anticipation. Slowly, she made her way to him, her hips swaying from side to side, something she'd never done before, much like she'd never had sex in a mall, no matter how desert.

«I forgot to send my letter,» Emma played along, reaching the steps leading up to the throne. Her blood ran hot when she noticed he'd taken off the fake belly and was only wearing a Christmas hat without fake beard or hair.

In the dim light, he gave her a gentle but sinful smile. «Come here, then, darling. Why don't you sit on Santa's lap and we'll talk about whatever comes up?»

Emma had to suffocate a moan at his words. After making her way up to him, she sat down on his lap, _astride_. «Oh, Santa, you're so kind,» she told him, her aching core making contact with the unmistakable bulge in his pants. Under her, Killian hissed, looking up at her with slightly pleading eyes. «Today's been a _long_ , _hard_ day, Santa, I completely forgot about my list.» She ran her hands up his chest, resting them at the sides of his neck.

«You're a lucky lass, then. What kind of gifts do you want me to stuff your stocking with?» he asked, one of his hands, the one that wasn't resting on thigh rubbing the nude stocking there, toying with the bell at her neck.

Her thighs clenched, causing her to rub against him. Fuck, _he has a way with words_. Emma licked her lips. «There's a special candy cane, I've heard, _big_ and _juicy_ ,» she trailed off just as his hand came up behind her back, his fingers toying with the zipper of the dress.

«That so?» Killian taunted her, lowering the zipper. «Keep going on, lass, I need to know what to search for so I can satisfy all your needs.»

Encouraged by his words, despite not being one to talk dirty while enjoying being the one to be talked dirty to, instead, Emma complied, falling back into her "naughty lass" role. «I've never seen it, unfortunately, but I've found myself wanting it in the past month, to the point I couldn't resist anymore. Please, Santa, is there a way to have the candy cane?» She added a series of innocent blinks, not faking her eagerness.

Killian had already completely lowered the zipper, the short sleeves falling from her shoulder without revealing the corset underneath. She felt his fingers on her back, but when he couldn't find her bare back but another layer of fabric, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. «The real question here is: have you been a good lass? Or are you on the naughty list?»

Biting her lip and looking him through her eyelashes, Emma replied: «I've fantasized about the candy cane, Santa, I thought how it would feel in my hand and taste in my mouth and…»

«And?»

«And I've thought about how else to use it.»

A low growl echoed in his throat, his fingers curling around the ribbons that kept the corset laced up. «You really are a naughty lass. Why should I give you the candy cane?»

It was Emma turn to smile wickedly. Oh, yes, she enjoyed being the naughty lass, but she also had a dominant vein. Adjusting herself onto him, purposely grinding down onto his hard cock, Emma let the front of the dress slip a little, revealing a few inches of the bright red corset that made her breasts look huge. «Because I have a gift to give Santa in exchange for his precious candy cane,» she leaned forward to whisper in his ear. In a last minute decision, Emma darted her tongue out to lick the shell of his ear, making him groan again.

When he spoke again, Killian's voice was hoarse and low. «Looks like we have a deal, lass,» he conceded, his lips a whisper away from her.

She was the one to make the first move, pouncing on his lips as if her life depended on it. _Perhaps not my life, but my sanity? Abso-fucking-lutely_.

It was a battle for dominance, tongues dancing and teeth marking each other's lips, a feral kiss in which they both poured the pent-up sexual frustration they'd been living with for more than a month.

Killian Jones, Emma found out, was also a good kisser. She loved how his soft lips felt against her own, how his stubble scratched her and sent shivers running down her arms. He nipped at her lower lip, pulling it between his teeth and making her moan.

Killian Jones wasn't just a good kisser, he was also a giving lover and was driving her insane, his erection pressing against her core and his hands roaming her back up to her shoulders so he could then proceed to _unwrap_ his gift.

What she didn't know yet, though she highly suspected it, was that Killian Jones was a kinky man – was it so strange, though, especially given what they were doing? Who the hell roleplays the first time they have sex? Apparently, they did.

When she felt the fabric of the dress fall around her hips, Emma pulled away slightly, letting him see what she was wearing. The twitch of his cock she felt, along with the strangled groan he emitted let her know he _decidedly_ liked it.

«Fuck, Emma,» Killian breathed, his hands moving up the front of the corset. She could feel the heat of his fingers through the red lace. «You're so beautiful.»

She couldn't help but blush at his words. Of course she knew she was hot, many had told her so, but there was something in Killian's voice that made her feel self-conscious about her body. Scratch that, _everything_ Killian did or said made her whole world turn upside-down. Plus, with him, she felt like she didn't need her walls, and even if she scared them, she _loved_ how he was breaking them down, even with simple, small gestures.

Not knowing what to say, Emma kissed him, a brief moment of tenderness that had her think she could get used to this, that she could get used to _him_.

As if sensing her uneasiness, Killian brought his hands back to her back, tugging at the many ribbons there, earning a chuckle from Emma when he huffed in annoyance. Finally, he managed to untie it, but didn't remove it, waiting for her permission.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Emma managed a half-smile. «What is it, Santa, don't you like your gift?»

He lifted his eyebrows. «I assure you, lass, I do,» Killian replied, bucking up his hips slightly, making her gasp in surprise. He made her lean back slightly to admire his "present", her breasts almost completely bare under his gaze. Soon, the corset found itself falling around her over the upper part of the dress.

Despite the heat running all day long in the mall, Emma couldn't help but shiver as her sensitive skin came in contact with the chilling air, her already hard nipples stiffening even more.

With a saucy smirk, Killian reached up with his warm hands – _god_ , that man was _always_ hot – and gently fondled them, making her moan. Never averting his eyes from hers, he leaned forward, taking one pert nipple into his mouth, sucking it greedily.

Emma moaned, biting her lip to keep herself from screaming. The man wasn't even _inside_ her and was already making her lose control. Not that she complained, mind you.

He let go of the nipple with a wet, obscene _pop_ before leaving a trail of open mouth kisses on her breasts until he reached the other one. This time, he added his teeth to the mix, which had Emma push her hips down onto his erection. Killian growled in response, sinking his teeth slightly into her delicate flesh without damaging it.

Forcing herself to do so, Emma used the fingers she'd threaded through his hair to make him pull back. The expression on his face wasn't helping: lips swollen and eyes shining with passion, gazing adoringly up at her. No one had ever looked at her like that, as if she was the sun, or the moon, or something precious.

Before he could ask her if there was something wrong – she would've laughed at that if Killian hadn't been a gentleman in every way and occasion – Emma lifted herself up from his lap on unsteady legs, stopping the dress and the corset from falling completely and ruining the stockings effect.

«There's another part of the gift to unwrap, Santa,» she teased him, swiftly unhooking the red straps and finally letting both dress and lingerie fall in a heap around her, remaining in her thong, stockings and pumps in front of him. And, oh, right, the hat was still in its place atop of her head.

But the stockings weren't the gift, no, she would keep those on as she rode him into Christmas' joy or whatever the Christmas-y equivalent for "oblivion" was. No, the actual gift was the thong.

Made of lace and satin, with a crystal hanging in the front, the thong _could_ be removed like a normal panty, but where would the fun in that be when it could easily be _untied_ from the back?

She turned around, allowing him to see the last part of his gift. By the groan he emitted, he seemed to like it.

A giggle escaped her mouth as he grabbed her hips and gently but firmly pulled her towards himself, now seated at the edge of the throne. His mouth found the dip of her spine, and then his tongue did, tracing a scorching hot line down to the bow on the small of her back. «It was nice of you to make sure my gift was carefully wrapped up, lass.»

Emma grinned at his words, feeling the tip of his nose nuzzle her skin. «I wanted to be a good girl for you, Santa, and get the candy cane I want.»

As his hands caressed her thighs and come up to gently squeeze her ass, Emma could clearly feel him smirk against her skin just above the ribbon. «Don't you worry, your stocking won't be the only thing that gets stuffed tonight.»

Hadn't she been extremely horny and on the verge of just jumping his bones, Emma would've laughed.

In a rapid move, Killian undid the bow, letting the soaked-through thong fall to the floor. The cold air hit her sex, making her shiver. Behind her, Killian bent his head and bit her on her left cheek, making her stuck her ass out a bit.

Sneaking a hand up between her warm thighs, Killian reached her wet folds with the tips of her fingers, parting them and feeling how slick she was. «Bloody hell, Swan,» he whispered, his fingers dipping into her moist heat, making her cry out in surprise, «so wet and hot.» Her knees trembled as he worked his magic – no pun intended, his fingers were _really_ magical – his tongue creating patterns on her skin. «Santa's not the only one coming tonight.»

Gasping for air, Emma reached behind her with one hand to grab his silky locks, digging her nails into his scalp. His fingers, long and thick, were making her go crazy, and she hoped she wouldn't fall, ruining the mood, but _fuck_ , she'd never felt so close to an orgasm in so little time. She wondered what he could do to her with that sinful tongue of his, and she resolved to find out next time. Because there would be a next time, oh yes.

Emma's pants were interrupted by a yelp when he sucked a mark onto her right cheek, making her push back onto his fingers, her walls clenching around them as he curled them.

«Come, Swan, come for me, so you can have my thick, juicy candy cane.»

As if her body was just waiting for his command, Emma came with a strangled shout, biting her lip so hard it almost drew blood.

The moment Killian's fingers were out of her cunt, she twirled around on unsteady legs just to see him putting said fingers into his mouth and suck. Loudly.

Unable to wait anymore, Emma straddled him once again, sitting back onto his thighs so she would have room to hastily undo the front of his coat and then of his pants. Not wasting more time, she sneaked her hand into his dark red box briefs.

« _Fuck_ ,» Killian hissed as her chilly fingers came into contact with his hard cock, the flesh hot and pulsing beneath her fingertips. «You're a greedy lass.»

«I've been craving this candy cane for a long time, Santa,» Emma grinned as she freed his erection from the confines of his underwear. It was indeed long and thick and juicy, and she would've gladly _sucked_ it had they had the time to do so. Unfortunately, both of them knew the more they indulged into their roleplay the more they risked of getting caught by some security guard or something.

She stroked him upwards, slowly enough to make him recline his head backwards and expose his neck to her hungry eyes. Without thinking about it twice, Emma bent her head and sucked a mark into his skin, much like he'd done on her ass earlier. She kept lavishing his neck as his hands tightened on her thighs, but she never stopped pumping him, slightly twisting her hand when she would reach the tip and spreading his precum all over his shaft. _Juicy indeed_.

Though it wasn't the right place or moment to be loud, Emma noticed Killian was quite vocal, too. She filed that information for later, now she had something else to do.

Raising herself onto her knees, Emma placed herself right above him, coating the head of his cock with her juices. Under her, Killian moaned loudly.

She was about to lower herself down on him, knowing all too well it'd be quite the feat given his girth, when he stopped her.

« _Fuck_ , Emma, wait, please,» Killian hissed, exerting an incredible self-control. «W-we need… condoms…»

 _Ah_. Right, well, Emma _had_ thought about that, she really had, but… she was on the pill and she was 99% sure Killian didn't have any disease. Plus, she might have a slight kink for unprotected sex?

«I'm on the pill, Killian, and I'm clean and I _trust_ you,» she kind of rambled, words rushing out of her mouth and she couldn't exactly _think_ straight when his cock was teasing her aching pussy.

He probably was in the same situation as she was, because he didn't fight her on it anymore, pulling her head down for a kiss, his fingers buried in her hair, and pushed his hips upwards. His teeth sunk onto her lower lip as her walls started to stretch around him.

Emma moaned loudly as she sunk down onto him, so big it even hurt a little, the direct contact with his heated flesh a sensation she would never forget. Another thing to know about Emma Swan: in all her life she'd never had sex without protection. «God, _fuck_ ,» she said closing her eyes, Killian's forehead pressed against her cleavage as he bottomed out inside her. Emma would lie if she said she wasn't surprised she'd managed to take it all inside her.

After her body had adjusted to him, Emma rocked her hips slightly. «Fuck,» she repeated, «you feel amazing, Killian.» Using "Santa" during foreplay was alright, but during actual sex? It would only be creepy. «So _hard_.»

Squeezing her ass, Killian pulled her forward, making them both moan in pleasure as her walls instinctively clenched around him. «So good, lass, so wet and _tight_ , perfect for my cock,» he whispered against her lips, kissing her deeply as she started to move above him faster and faster, knowing they didn't have much time. Later, they would have all the time they wanted _later_. «You ever done it on a throne, Swan?» There was a note of amusement in his voice and, before she could reply, he captured her lips with hers once again.

When she could finally speak again, Emma shook her head. «Never, but I really want to try out my princess costume in the future,» she breathed as she dug her nails into his scalp. His hips bucked up in response, his cock hitting and stretching places inside her she didn't even know she had. _God_ , he was a god when it came to sex. And to say this was hurried.

«Next time?» Killian asked, pulling away from her just enough to look her in the eyes, his hair dishevelled and a child-like grin on his face.

Fear didn't gasp her, his expression giving her confirmation that wasn't a one-time thing. « _Aye_ ,» she mocked him, «next time.»

«Next time I will take my time with you, Swan,» Killian promised as he slid one of his hands up her thigh and down where they were joined, his fingers easily finding her sensitive clit. «Right now, though, forgive me for being in a rush.»

With those words, he started to circle her clit. The moment his mouth found her right nipple again, Emma threw her head backwards, starting to ride him faster. She ignored the ache in her thighs, knowing she would be sore tomorrow, but _fuck_ , Killian was making her see star, quite literally since she shifted that little she needed to find her sweet spot, his cock hitting it perfectly and she wanted to scream.

Her walls started to pulsate around him, his fingers dancing over her clit rushing her even faster towards her climax. Her nipple popped out of his mouth with a smacking sound, but his tongue never left her, trailing up her chest and neck where he left a mark, the bell ringing each time she moved. «Come for me, Emma,» Killian whispered against her lips without actually kissing her.

«Come with me, Killian, please, come inside me» she found herself begging, her mind fogged by pleasure as her body moved frantically above him. Another flick of his rough fingers and Emma was coming, her scream suffocated by Killian's lips.

As she tightened around his cock like a vice, Killian pushed up once, twice before emptying himself deep inside her with a growl, the sensation of his seed hitting her insides sending shivers all through her body, her walls milking him of all he had.

They stayed like there until their laboured breaths and palpitating hearts calmed down. Unwilling to move, Emma forced herself to, letting his softening member slip out of her with a whine, his come leaking out of her and coating him.

«We need to go wash up,» she sighed, wondering why she'd decided not to wait to be in an actual bedroom before having her wicked way with him. _Well, it wouldn't have been that fun_ , she concurred with a mental shrug.

Killian was still panting, his hair sticking up in every way. «As much as I wouldn't mind staying here, you're right.» Not without a grimace, he put his cock back into his boxers and closed the red pants, surprising her when, once she'd shyly stood up, he offered her Santa's coat.

 _He really always is a gentleman_ , Emma mused, wrapping the thick fabric around herself. They went back to the changing rooms, outside of which Killian pressed Emma against the wall, kissing her senseless, matching smiles on both of their faces.

Once they'd cleaned themselves up and changed into normal clothes, they went outside through a service door Killian thankfully had the keys of.

«What do you plan on doing on New Year's Eve?»

«You?» Emma replied with a chuckle.

Killian laughed, shaking his head. «I said "what", not "who".»

«You… after a day spent watching something on Netflix?»

«So you wouldn't be adverse to going out with me?»

She couldn't help but raise her eyebrows. «On New Year's Eve?»

«Aye,» he said, and his lips curled up into that repressed smile he usually had when he didn't want to let a secret slip. «Do you trust me?»

Circling his neck with her arms, Emma nodded. «Of course I trust you.»

(That night, Emma showed up late at the Nolan's, and if she was wearing a turtleneck – which she hated – nobody said anything. On the contrary, Liam teased Killian when the latter showed up with a turtleneck himself, knowing his little brother hated that article of clothing, saying in front of his wife and her – well, their – family that there was only one reason why he would wear it.)

(The Santa and elf costumes went missing. Or, rather, they found a new home in a secluded corner of Emma and Killian's wardrobes and later on into the chest where they would put all their costumes.)

(On New Year's Eve, Killian brought Emma to a little Italian restaurant he'd worked at. To say Emma was surprised would be a euphemism. At the end of their date, they decided to go to Killian's place, where they welcomed the new year with a bang. Literally.)

(None of them accepted the offer to dress up as Santa and his elf again: they didn't want to have to make up another excuse about the costumes disappearing again.)

(They also turned down Halloween parties as well, though Emma had to admit it: the pirate attire suited them both very well.)

(And oh! They managed to act out that princess roleplay, perhaps not on a throne, but they _did_ book a castle in Ireland specifically for that one. At least there they could be as loud as they wanted.)


	5. Warming up my hands, my soul, my heart

**from effulgentcolors: oh, oh, hey, hun! I'd love it so much, if you did a CS piece with Person A notices that Person B hasn't been wearing gloves, even in the drastically cold temperatures they've been experiencing. So Person A takes on the task of knitting them a new pair. :))))**

 _ **Warming up my hands, my soul, my heart**_

If you were to take the subway every morning to go to Harvard, you'd see professor Emma Swan with her nose always buried in a book, book that changed at least twice a week, genres varying depending on what came out or what she wanted to reread – lately, rereading was something she cursed because it prevented her from reading new books and lengthened her "to read" list.

Sometimes, there was just an ereader in her hand, probably because the actual book was a collection of stories or it was just too big to be comfortably carried in her bag. It was also a tester of sorts: if she loved the book, she'd buy the physical copy the day she finished it, otherwise it would go on her black list.

The only person with a book mania worse than hers was her colleague, Belle French, a researcher of antique manuscripts who also could boast a ginormous library. The first time Emma stepped inside, she actually wept at its magnificence.

Emma Swan seemed to function on autopilot, always getting up with the sun save for the weekends – unless she had obligations of sorts –, feeding her black cat Coal – name that stayed after she'd adopted him from the shelter – and fixing herself a cup of strong coffee, putting so much sugar and milk in it it couldn't even be called coffee anymore. She then washed herself and dressed up in comfortable but formal clothes, always assuring she had contacts on but also that she wouldn't leave the house without her glasses, lest she found herself with a nasty headache come late afternoon. The walk to the subway was pretty short, allowing her to linger a bit at home when the days started to get cold and she didn't want to leave the bed. Once she stepped on the train, though, with her earphones on and a book in her hand, she would lose herself into the pages, falling straight down the rabbit hole and into a new land, whether she was standing or sitting.

Truth to be told, not much was enough to catch her attention, she just seemed to know when her stop was, but that probably was part of her mind counting the stops even when she lost track of time and space. So, if your question is "does she ever miss her stop?" the answer is no, Emma Swan never missed her stop, no matter how engrossed in a book she was.

That is, until last spring.

It was the middle of March and she was so lost in a new novel she could almost smell the scent of orange trees described in the book it took her eight pages and a different scene to understand she wasn't mad and there was something smelling like oranges – delicious, sweet oranges – but, unless someone had changed their body wash or perfume, or someone had brought a crate of fresh oranges on the train, no one who'd taken the subway as long as Emma had could smell like oranges. Unable of shaking the from her mind, Emma did something she usually didn't: she lift her eyes from the book, letting her gaze wander until it set on a total stranger several feet from her.

The moment her eyes fell on him, Emma's mind seemed to shut down completely, like when your laptop shuts down unexpectedly and you just don't know why – but hey, at least it isn't the blue screen of death, so – and her brain was trying to come back to life, especially so it could tell her to breathe, her lungs screaming in pain.

The man was utterly beautiful, _painfully_ so, honestly: fair skin and strong jaw covered in a gingerish scruff Emma wanted feel under her fingertips – and, well, somewhere else, too – but she wanted to bury her fingers in his dark chocolate mousse hair, too. Only during the hotter months she wold discover he had a tuft of chest hair peeking out of his shirt, which would increase a need she usually didn't give in to. Though he kept his eyes low, reading something in his lap – a _huge_ book but probably not a novel, perhaps something about science – Emma was 110% sure he had striking blue eyes. In a book, a man like him would have the bluest eyes ever, something she'd deemed impossible right until he lifted his eyes to check his surroundings, probably making sure he'd not missed his stop.

At that point, Emma's brain was screaming something along the lines of "404 logic not found", because no one she ever met had eyes as beautiful as his, not unless they were famous who still were part of the category "people Emma had never met". Therefore, logically, people with such piercing eyes did exist, but Emma had never been so lucky to meet them. Until now.

It was as if some perfect character had come out of a novel – oh boy, she'd find out how much similar to a gentleman the man she couldn't shake from her head was only months later – and she couldn't help but staring at him for the whole ride, mouth slightly agape as her eyes never left him, falling more than once on his – definitely – kissable lips as they silently formed the words he was reading without emitting a sound. More than once, her hands itched still clutching the forgotten book, wanting so bad to run through his dark locks and move them away from where they fell over his forehead and eyes.

Alas, much like a good book, even in real life time runs out, and Emma's ran out when the man closed the book and got up, looking down at the watch on his left wrist before rushing out the train's doors.

The scent of oranges lingered for a bit, keeping Emma under the man's spell for long minutes until she felt someone tap on her shoulder. She whipped her head around, looking at the old lady sitting next to her, a knowing look on her face that Emma didn't like one bit.

«I'm sorry, dear, but wasn't that your stop?»

At the lady's words, Emma shook herself out of her reverie, noticing she had indeed lost her stop.

«Fuck.»

That was the first time she saw the man of her dreams, the perfect incarnation of every bookworm's secret desires. It was also the first time she was late – or at least late according to her schedule that saw her having a coffee and a bear-claw from the cafeteria with Belle.

From that day on, the fascinating stranger took the train every morning two stops after hers, he too with a book always in his hands, strong masculine hands she wanted to feel on her body, just like his mouth and that beard of his…

She lusted after him for months, despite her efforts not to, because there was no way that man was still single – no ring around his left ring finger meant nothing – and this just because of his looks. Perhaps he was an asshole – _an asshole who read more maths and science books than actual books? Really, Swan?_ – or a serial killer – _now yes, a serial killer would read science_.

The first time she heard him speak was April, when he apologized to a lady for hitting her after the train made some of the passengers stumble. _Fuck, he's British_. That was something she'd not considered and made her wonder how his voice would sound in the bedroom.

She missed him after classes ended, when she enjoyed a few weeks off snuggling with Coal on her bed with a mug of hot chocolate, whipped cream and cinnamon and a good stash of books so she wouldn't need to leave the house. Soon after, because she had once again signed up for summer lessons, Emma found herself seeing him again, and she wondered what kind of job he had. One of the hypothesis she'd come up with was that her stranger was a student at the MIT, but he didn't seem to be studying those books he carried, instead he seemed to be enjoying them, just like she enjoyed hers.

The summer passed pretty quickly, too fast for her liking, especially when, since her stranger showed up, Emma had started to look at him from over the top of her books, making her deconcentrate and now she struggled to read two books in one week. What a bummer.

Of course there were days on which he wouldn't show up. On those days, Emma wanted to pout like a child. It was irrational how much she'd come to care about that man, a man that would probably – surely – never be hers. Honestly, Emma was at war with herself, not only the primal part of her wanted to approach him, even just for a chat, but the scared part of her always won. In the past, Emma had never dated much, probably because the first boyfriend she ever had sent her to jail for his crime, so excuse her for her trust issues. That and the fear of being told he wasn't interested kept her away from him.

While Belle understood her, Mary Margaret and Ruby did not. Not only they tried to push her to talk to him, but Ruby had gathered intel on him once Emma had told her he probably went to the MIT. From that small theory, Ruby managed to find out he did in fact go at the MIT but was a professor himself. Emma had managed to let her drop the topic: if she were to find information about him, it would come from the man himself. _If_.

Things changed in November. Well, they actually changed in the middle of December, but still.

It was starting to become really cold, winters in Boston always pretty awful for someone like her: thick coats instead of leather jackets, beanies to cover her ears, scarves to try and cover her nose, though she always ended up looking like Rudolph, and the worst thing ever: gloves.

Emma _hated_ gloves, she hated not being able to feel what she touched, but after that first winter spent in Boston when she almost went to the hospital because her fingers threatened to fall off, she'd started to wear them.

So when she saw the man that smelled like oranges not wearing any kind of gloves, not even the ones fingerless, Emma started to worry. He probably had never experienced a winter in Boston, or if he had, he was lucky to still have his fingers attached to his hands.

In her mind, Emma worried about the status of his fingers – also because he then wouldn't be able of using them on her and she really liked the idea of those fingers all over her and possibly _inside_ her. She was decidedly lucky mind readers didn't exist, otherwise she would end up feeling more ashamed than she already did.

The idea came to her mind during one of her classes, when she heard one of her students moan about receiving yet another itchy sweater from her Aunt on her birthday but she couldn't tell her to stop knitting them because she loved her Aunt. Emma wondered if said Aunt actually knew her niece didn't like those sweaters.

Mere days later she realized she shouldn't have joked about it, not when she ended up coming home with brand new knitting needles and way too much red wool. Manuals weren't her thing, not really, but with the help of a few good tutorials – and _maybe_ a desperate call to Granny – Emma learned how to knit gloves.

It was a disaster. And there wasn't too much wool at all, just what was necessary to create a passable pair of gloves. They weren't bad looking, and they _did_ pass Granny's inspection, so now the hardest part was giving them to the mysterious professor.

The perfect occasion presented itself on December 13th, when, due to some electrical problem, the train would be late. It was almost a blessing, since she was running late and she didn't want to spend another minute in her study, as much as she didn't want to spend another minute in the cold, but she couldn't have everything, could she?

She heard his curse before she saw him, his voice sending pleasant shivers down her spine as heat pooled in her belly. Turning around, Emma saw her stranger ran a hand through his hair, something she was dying to do too. Deciding to approach him in the unstalkerish way, Emma said: «First winter in Boston?» _Why, Swan,_ very _unstalkerish_.

The man snapped his head up, blue eyes boring into hers and for a moment the snow seemed to melt away around them. It took him almost a whole minute before answering her. «Aye, though not the first tube to stop working in the middle of it, unfortunately.»

 _An Englishman indeed_ , she thought holding back a smirk at the noun he'd used. Emma looked around, noticing many people around them becoming impatient by the minute. «Uh, we could split a cab, perhaps?» At his arched eyebrow, which reached ridiculously high in her opinion, she rushed to add: «If that's alright with you, of course. It's not like we wouldn't go in the same direction, right?»

 _God, Emma, you're terrible at this_. She could _see_ Ruby smacking her forehead and shook her head with a long sigh.

«What if you were a serial killer?»

At that, Emma's smile widened. «Did I say I wasn't?»

His other eyebrow reached his hairline as he sinfully licked his lips. «And what would your modus operandi be, exactly?»

Emma shrugged. «I could simply show you.» She winked, nodding towards the exit, internally sighing in relief as he followed her. Once outside, Emma turned around. «Wait a minute, what if _you_ are a serial killer too?»

The way he grinned darkly should be deemed illegal. «I didn't say I wasn't one.» After a moment, he held out his hand. «Killian Jones, Naval Science professor at the MIT.»

Emma cursed the gloves she was wearing as she squeezed his hand, unable of feeling his skin beneath hers. «Emma Swan, Literature professor at Harvard.»

Killian nodded, not letting go of her hand yet. «That kind of explains the absurd amount of books. Though I shouldn't judge,» he said, his cheeks tinging a cute shade of pink while his nose and ears were bright red due to the cold.

 _It's now or never_. «This might sound strange, but, uh, I've gotten these. For you.» Emma knew the ground wouldn't open up below her and swallow her whole unless it was a catastrophe, but one could always hope. Holding her breath, she held out the wrapped gloves.

It took him a bit to take the package and carefully unwrap it. Emma had not the courage to look at him, her eyes fixated on the ground. «Did you make them?» Killian breathed in disbelief, his tone making her look up at his amazed face.

«Uh, yeah. I can do better, but it's the first time I-»

«I love them,» Killian cut her off, looking her in the eyes. _God, they are so damn blue_. «I'm honoured, really.»

Emma couldn't help the small smile that bloomed on her face, her cheeks tinging red and not just because of the cold. «I didn't want to assume,» she explained, «but you were, like, the only one on the train without a pair of gloves and I didn't want you to actually lose your fingers because you never experienced Boston's winter.»

Killian chuckled, holding up his hand and caressing her cheek with his knuckles, slowly enough to make her feel how much warm his skin was.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. «You- you _liar_!» she exclaimed and liar was definitely too much, but he didn't shy away from her, probably because her words held no bite. «You didn't tell me you were a freaking human furnace.» His eyebrows reached impossibly higher. Thinking about her last words, Emma nodded. «Yeah, yeah, so much for not wanting to assume, right?»

He laughed at that, his warm fingers lingering onto her chilly cheek. «It's quite cute, Swan, I must admit it. Now, before you turn into an ice statue, may I offer you a cab ride home? I insist, Swan,» he added when she was about to open her mouth to protest, «you gave me such a wonderful and thoughtful gift, the least I can do is offering you a passage home.»

«Aren't you a gentleman,» Emma commented, feeling insanely cold when he pulled his hand away to wear the gloves she'd made him.

«Love,» he drawled, his voice low, and suddenly it was too _hot_ to even breathe, «I'm _always_ a gentleman.»

Emma licked her lips, and noticed with pleasure the way his gaze followed the tip of her tongue. «Then, _milord_ , lead the way.»

* * *

The first time she invited him home for a cosy dinner date was a week later, after winter break started. Problem was, Emma had not accounted for Coal to find her not so intelligently hidden stash of wool five minutes before Killian showed up.

Killian met Coal as he tried to free him from the strands of orange wool, the cat trying to free himself on his own, which led to an even messier situation.

«You said you were good with knots!»

«Aye, but these ain't knots, these are the devil's work!»

A pause. «How the hell do you know what Coal's middle name is?!»

Killian huffed a laugh at that, but little did he know the little hellion's middle name was actually Devil.

That night, after a nice dinner and a movie, Emma leaned forward and kissed Killian for the first time, Coal's growl in the background as he slept curled on Killian's lap as if he knew what they were doing.

They moved in together a year and a half later in a bigger apartment not so far away from where they both used to live, almost halfway from where their old apartments were.

They still read tons of books and Emma still knitted sometimes, and of course Coal still glowered a bit, though now it was also aimed towards Emma since the pest had grown fond of Killian, especially when he'd started to bribe him with toys.

Oh, and Coal still _loved_ the balls of wool he found, but soon Emma and Killian discovered he unfortunately loved Christmas lights, too…


	6. In sickness and in health

**From hollyethecurious: because it made me snort laugh, i'd love to request prompt 15 on the sick list from you. From the prompt: "please stop wasting what's left of your voice on complaints about soup you can't even taste".**

Killian Jones wasn't her friend. Well, not exactly. In some ways, he _was_ : he knew what her breakfast and lunch orders were and made her find them on her desk when she had a long stakeout; he knew all about her and her past and never once had judged her, merely giving her a shoulder on which cry on; he flirted with her as a defence mechanism, much like she put up walls to keep her heart from being hurt, and though she pretended it annoyed her, somehow it flattered her; he was a good cop with a good heart, precise, who played by the book with – a bit too many – exceptions.

Oh! He also took a bullet for her.

Which was why she now found herself in her own apartment, fumbling with the stove to create the trillionth soup she would end up _accidentally_ throwing on his lap if he didn't stop being so impossibly grumpy.

Emma knew she shouldn't complain: she would act just like him even though she would deny it until she exhaled her dying breath. Her patience was wearing thin, and only the thought that she would be the same had she been the one who'd been shot and gotten the flu.

But it had been almost a week of her colleague throwing up, then catching a horrible cold, not to mention the awful cough that was testing his cracked ribs. Did she mention that, aside from the bullet, Killian also fell from the stairs and hit his right side – the one that wasn't already bleeding – against a radiator? At least it wasn't the window above it.

His action, _not_ the feelings Emma _had not_ developed to him and tried to bury, and the guilt Emma felt had pushed her to offer up her own apartment as a recovery safe place for Killian. The first time David had joked about Killian being the first guy to move in with Emma, she had almost thrown her heavy paperweight at him. She opted for throwing her eraser at him, hitting him straight in the ribs, exactly where Kilian had been shot. Mary Margaret confirmed David's skin was purple for days, and if Emma was proud of herself, well, no one needed to know.

After spending almost a month in the hospital, Killian had finally been discharged and moved into Emma's apartment. Two weeks had passed before he got sick, all this because, apparently, he'd gone _somewhere_ aided by David and still, after a week of living in hell, he didn't want to tell her where he'd been. Not that she cared, mind you, but she didn't want him to die on her watch. Unless she was the one doing the killing, of course, which she honestly couldn't take off the list of things to do since how he kept moaning about the food not being savoury enough. _No shit, Sherlock_.

Killian was currently laying on her couch, wrapped up in thick blankets with cold sweat beading his forehead and red, glassy eyes looking up at her as he tried to read the next chapter of one of Emma's thrillers.

«My savior,» he muttered, his voice so nasal it would make her laugh if she wasn't so pissed at him. Besides, his loud snores lately made her want to grab her gun and shot him. She could also get away with the murder, honestly, but didn't really want to have to clean up all the blood.

He put the book on the coffee table, making place for her to sit down next to him. He wasn't a bad roommate, he indeed was a gentleman and didn't need many attentions, just someone to check on him. From what she knew about Killian Jones, the man was alone, just like her. David had told her his brother had died on action when in the Navy, right before Killian eyes. It was then he'd almost lost his left hand; how he'd managed to regain complete functionality of it and pass the physical tests impressed Emma.

They were what people called kindred spirits, which was why Emma had tried to despise him when he didn't deserve it. Right now, though, he deserved all the scorching hot soup she could dump on him. No hard feelings.

«Yeah, yeah, savior my ass,» she muttered to herself, but apparently loud enough for him to hear.

«And what a fine arse it is.»

Emma wasn't even looking at him but could _hear_ the high eyebrows in his voice. _You can still pretend to trip, Emma_ , she reminded herself in a singsonging voice. But she'd promised David she would be good, or would try to, so no little soup-on-crotch accident. Pity.

«Alright, Don Juan, here's your soup.»

«Thank you, love,» Killian said, smiling up at her with kindness. Emma's heart fluttered traitorously in her chest at the sight. When he smiled, even all bruised and battered, Killian Jones looked like a child. She'd often wondered if he smiled a lot when he was a child, unlike her.

A small smile blossomed on Emma's face as she sat down on the other couch cross-legged with her own bowl of soup. She would've preferred pizza or Chinese, but she wanted to play nice and be on his same level.

The soup was wonderful, and Emma was one who didn't quite love them if she wasn't forced to eat them. Mary Margaret's tips had been really useful, making the soup even more savoury. Jones, though, seemed to disagree.

«Swan, this is _tasteless_ ,» he started to moan, lifting up the spoon and watching as the soup fell back into the bowl. «Are you sure you didn't serve me coloured water?»

To say Emma was fuming would be a euphemism. He was so infuriating she almost wouldn't regret slipping some kind of poison into his tea. Because _of course_ he drank tea. Alright, perhaps Emma had taken a liking to it and to try the various flavours Killian at home.

« _Please_ ,» she began through gritted teeth, not knowing if she was aiming for his gentlemanly side or if she was begging herself to plan his death, «stop wasting what's left of your voice on complaints about soup you can't even _taste_.» Her voice rose with every word but keeping a menacing tone that had Killian's eyes widen in alarm – unless he was having a heart attack or a sudden internal pain – and his mouth form a thin line.

He kept his eyes downcast, looking at the soup swirling in the bowl. Emma could see a muscle tick in his jaw but his anger only managed to fuel hers. «I apologise, Swan, I didn't mean to act like a complete arse.»

In the back of her mind, Emma saw a younger version of herself apologizing for things she didn't break or fights she didn't start but _no_ , Jones didn't get to be the mad one in this situation, not to _her_.

Forcing herself not to slam the bowl onto the coffee table, Emma sat up, her jaw set. «You could at least look at me when you apologize.» She felt almost as if she was scolding a child, which, honestly, wasn't that far from the truth given how childish Killian had behaved. «I don't even know how the hell you got sick, or why you decided to go for a walk when the doctor clearly told you not to move until you'd completely healed.»

Oh she was _really_ pissed now, his "apology" breaking the thin dam that kept her emotions at bay. Unfortunately, she couldn't do him any harm – and if a voice in her head told her she could punish him in bed once his wound and bruises had healed by tying him to the bed and torture him, Emma ignored it – but she could express her anger, _loudly_.

What she didn't expect him to do, however, was asking her what hour it was.

Emma blinked several times, looking at him as if he'd grown a second and a third head. «W-why do you want to know what hour it is?»

A faint shade of pink spread over the apples of his pale cheeks, as if the question embarrassed him. Emma could understand the annoyance at not being able to do things on your own, but that wasn't it: Killian's phone was on the coffee table next to the book, there was no reason for him to ask.

Despite her scepticism, Emma obliged him looked at her phone. «Just past eight,» she told him, her eyebrows lowering into a frown. «Why?»

The blush spread to his neck and ears; hadn't she been extremely pissed, she would've find him even… _cute_. He gulped, then cleared his sore throat. «I wanted to wait until tomorrow, but I gather you're too upset to wait, aye?» Killian didn't wait for her to reply, lifting himself on unsteady socks-clad feet, his legs trembling slightly under his weight. «Wait here, please?»

Without waiting for her answer – _again_ – Killian slowly made his way to what by now had become his room, leaving an appalled Emma in the living room, mouth agape as she watched him just walk away. She heard him fumble with something and mutter curses before he reappeared in the hallway, the blankets still awkwardly wrapped around him and his breath ragged. Looking at him, Emma noticed he had one hand wrapped around the hems of the blankets and the other one hidden beneath them.

Killian stopped in front of her, clearly fatigued, and looked downward. «I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten you needed a new mug and more cocoa powder.»

Emma was utterly shocked.

Every year, on her birthday, a gift showed up on her desk, carefully wrapped in red paper with black swans printed on it. The package always contained a new Disney mug. Knowing that no one aside from David knew about this side of her, Emma had always thought the gift was from him, especially considering there always were two cans of Guittard cocoa powder inside. Never one she'd thought it was Jones behind it all.

She felt ashamed. No, more than that: she wanted the floor to open up beneath her and swallow her whole. Her anger still lingered, but it'd been tamed by the knowledge that he'd gone buying her birthday present in the state he was in. _Well, Emma, the man_ did _take a bullet for you_.

Killian was holding out his trembling hand to her, the package unsteady onto his open palm as he clearly struggled to keep hold of it. His fever must've risen again.

Swiftly, Emma took it and Killian all but collapsed onto the couch, tightening the blankets around himself and picking up the bowl of soup, patiently waiting for her to open her gift.

Emma mirrored him, sinking back into the cushions, unable of averting her eyes from the black swans. It had been Jones all along. Never David, whom she'd thanked _every_ damn time. Fuck, she was the worst.

«Ahh, you didn't think it was me, did you?»

Killian's voice was raspy, but not enough to let sadness slip without Emma noticing. She felt horrible for not realizing it sooner. Shaking her head, Emma teared the wrapping paper and opened the box, finding the two cans inside along with a Cheshire Cat giant mug.

«It's beautiful,» she whispered with glassy eyes. _Yes_ , she was on the verge of tears, many different emotions swirling through her. At first, there was self loathing, because he'd bought her a gift for years when she didn't even know when _his_ birthday was, and he did it again this year despite never receiving a "thank you" from her and his injuries.

Then came anger.

«Why the hell did you think it was okay to go out there in your condition?!»

At least he had the decency to look chastised. «I'm sorry, love, I just wanted you to have a nice birthday, especially after you decided to take care of my sorry arse. I didn't think I would turn out to be a utter wanker when under the weather.»

Emma's eyebrow just continued rising until they reached her hairline while hearing his explanation. «Jones, you literally took a bullet for me, you think I would've minded if you didn't get me anything for my birthday?»

If possible, he blushed even more. At least he wasn't red because he was choking on something; Emma couldn't handle that. Plus, she didn't want to be the one actually breaking his ribs and reopening his wound. Apparently, Killian Jones could perfectly manage that on his own.

Emma sighed, stepping around the coffee table and sitting down on its edge. «Listen, don't think I'm not mad, because I _am_ , both because you decided to go on an adventure with your _mate_ and because you were an asshole during this last week. This said,» Emma gulped, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes looking down at the floor, «thank you. For everything. The, uh, the mugs and cans of cocoa powder, I'm sorry I didn't thank you sooner. And, ehm, thank you for catching that bulled in my place, too, I guess.»

For the first time in that week, Killian let out what wanted to be a laugh but resembled more a chuckle, all that while holding onto his ribs. «You're welcome, love.»

When Emma gathered the courage to look up at him, she saw a small smile on his face, his dry lips stretched out she wondered how much it would take him to split his lower lip open _again_. She mirrored his smile, leaning forward to brush her lips against his warm cheek, not wanting herself to be the cause his lip reopened.

And of course, she didn't want to get sick herself.

However, it didn't stop her from kissing him when he stopped coughing and breathing just through his mouth: Emma had a much more enjoyable use of it in mind.


	7. Blunt the knives (that's what Killian Jo

**From the prompt list: "This is not something a parent teaches their child," with both CS and KnightRook! 3**

 **7\. Blunt the knives (that's what Killian Jones hates)**

Turning the key in the lock, Emma entered her house, her head filled with a whirlwind of contrasting thoughts, their weight threatening to overwhelm her. It wasn't that they were horrible thoughts, not at all, it just was difficult for her to wrap her head around them. It also didn't help that she was _scared_.

Worrying a lower lip that had seen better days between her teeth, she hung her jacket on the coat rack next to the door along with her bag – a bag! Emma Swan owned a bag! And not a purse for a night out, a bag! No, wait, _more_ than one!

A smile pulled at her lips. Many things had changed since the day she was born: from mere orphan, she'd become a brilliant woman, a sheriff, and had a loving family, friends she cold trust with her own life. Her heart fluttered thinking about her family, the undying love for them quenching her fears.

 _Everything's gonna be alright_ , she told herself, squaring her shoulders and following the laughter she heard. The sound led her to the kitchen, where her smile faded and her skin paled visibly.

Standing in front of their daughter, who was perched on the kitchen island with her socks-covered feet dangling and her blonde hair tied in a messy braid – Killian was getting better, and you'd think a former Navy man would be good with braiding his daughter's hair.

What shocked her, though, was that they weren't cooking, no, they were _sharpening knives_.

Before Emma could even open her mouth, Alice spotted her, her blue eyes widening in delight. «Mama!» she exclaimed, dangerously placing the small but sharp knife on the marble counter and trying to squirm her way down the island when her father's arm sneaked around her waist, keeping her in place.

«A-ah, Starfish, not so fast. What did I tell you?» Killian gently reminded her, nodding his head towards the forgotten knife.

Alice pursed her lips, grabbing the knife and carefully sliding it into the wooden knife block. Killian nodded and freed her, letting her jump down the island and run towards her mother.

From her part, Emma was completely stunned. So much, in fact, that it even took her a few seconds to wrap her arms around her daughter after she'd wrapped her bony ones around her waist. Blue eyes were glancing up at her, a wide smile lighting up not only Alice's face but Emma's whole world as well.

«Hey, baby,» she greeted her, crouching in front of her and showering her face with kisses. Emma was rewarded with a fit of giggles. «How are you?»

«I'm perfectly fine, Mama,» Alice replied, using her mother's question to get her revenge and plant kisses all over her face.

Emma hummed, her smile never leaving her face. She loved having quiet moments with her family, and greetings after work were one of the best parts of her day. «How was school? Did you do anything you like today?»

Alice had started nodding even before she finished her sentence. «Yes! I've painted!» she exclaimed before leaning forward and cupping her hand around Emma's ear to whisper in a low voice: «I didn't even show Papa.»

Another thing Emma loved was that Alice would talk about her school day _only_ when both she and Killian were at home. On days Killian needed to fly out to New York or somewhere else to be a guest on food shows – he didn't get two Michelin stars for nothing – she would tell them only when Killian was facetiming them, the two blondes curled up in bed with mugs of hot chocolate as a method to soothe the pain of their man being so far away from them.

«Then why don't you grab your painting so me and Papa can see it?»

Sneaking away from her mother's arms, Alice immediately rushed upstairs.

Emma stayed there, watching her bouncing braid disappear from her sight. Then, she straightened up, crossing her arms in front of her chest, thin blonde eyebrows arched in question. She was trying not to exactly glare at him, probably failing. However, Killian didn't seem fazed as he kept sharpening the knife on the metal… thing. Sharpener. Whatever.

«Hello, love,» he greeted her, a warm smile on his lips as he briefly lifted his eyes to look at her from beneath his eyelashes. It was unfair: his stupid face should be considered illegal. How could she stay mad at him?

 _Sheer willpower_ , she reminded herself, biting back the smile and drowning the butterflies that had started to fly around her stomach. Ripping their wings off was too dramatic. Could butterflies drown, though?

«Hello, my love,» she replied sweetly, perhaps a bit too much. «Care to tell me about what were you doing just before I walked in?»

Killian shrugged slightly. How could he do that while rapidly sharpening that bloody knife at the same time? What, you earned that ability with Michelin stars? _No, alright, it's the other way around_. _But still_. «I was merely teaching her how to sharpen a knife, love. She already knows how to cut vegetables perfectly, _without_ cutting her fingers. This was the next logical step.»

The various faded and almost invisible scars on her fingertips seemed to itch at his words. «This is not something a parent teaches their child,» she retorted, lifting her chin.

The moment Killian arched his eyebrow – _that_ should be considered illegal, too – Emma knew she was about to lose the battle. «You taught her how to pick locks, love.»

And that was why.

«It's not the same thing!» she huffed, knowing he was partially right. But only partially. «It's just… she could've hurt herself, Killian.»

Placing down the knife and sharpener – definitely not in the block – Killian stepped closer, his hands going one to her waist and the other at the base of her jaw, fingers threading through her hair. «You know I would die myself before I let our Starfish get hurt, don't you? This goes even for just a little nick from a sharpened blade.»

Yes, Emma knew that: her husband was something akin to a hawk every time he let Alice help him in the kitchen, and Emma had never not trusted him. Besides, she should've known this day would soon come. It also meant she could have a bargain chip when wanting to teach Alice some self-defense moves – which Killian would totally support, but still.

Sighing, she nodded, leaning forward to kiss him, the tension of the day washing off of her immediately. Emma smiled into the kiss, losing herself, her thoughts now focused on her husband and her husband only, on how he swiftly moved his tongue over her lower lip and how soft his own were, his stubble scratching her skin in a delicious way.

She loved kissing Killian, probably because she'd never known how meaningful and wonderful kisses were until she met him. Yeah, Killian Jones turned her world upside-down, and she was perfectly okay with it.

As she heard footsteps getting close, Emma smiled and pressed one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before slightly pushing Killian away. «Go put away your toys, our Starfish demands our presence.» She didn't miss the way his eyes were sparkling and he looked enraptured. _Good, I still have_ it.

He nodded, turning around and finishing sharpening the last knife, the metallic sounds following her out of the kitchen. She was about to follow an excited Alice in the living room when a wicked idea seeping into her mind. He would forgive her. Eventually.

Emma took a step back and popped her head over the doorframe. The sounds had stopped, signal that he was testing the blade's sharpness.

«By the way, I hope you'll teach your other child how to cut vegetables and sharpen knives.»

A loud curse accompanied her while she headed towards the living room. However, she never made it, because Killian's arms wrapped around her and spun her around while keeping her close to his wide chest, a happy laugh escaping her lips.

(She might have not cared about the blood stain Killian had left on her favourite white sweater, but there was nothing wrong in making him pay a little for the scare he'd given her by making him thoroughly wash it with his own bare hands.)

(It also may or may not have been a faithful reminder of how they'd met in the first place.)

(Gotta love a man who can ably wash blood off white clothes.)


	8. (not so) unexpected

**kmomof4 I finally managed to write it! Thank you for fueling my love for Captain Cobra Swan and my headcanon - or desire, if you want :'D**

 **This is for you ;)**

 **I've changed the prompt a lot, since it would've put Killian OOC in my opinion. I also can't remember who posted this prompt, sorry D:**

 **"I…I have a son?" He frowned. He knew he'd knocked up that one woman years ago and had a daughter, but he couldn't fathom having made the mistake twice. "I'm going to need some proof of that."**

 **"You already know about me…you just don't know about me." The boy coughed, avoiding direct eye contact. "Mom didn't actually have a girl, it turns out."**

 **(sorry about the title, it's either titles or summaries, the muse always gives up on one of them)**

 **8\. (not so) unexpected**

Despite the fact that Killian Jones was indeed a morning person, he didn't function well without a good cup of coffee.

Unfortunately, his coffee maker had died the night before as he tried to stay up and grade some papers. Even worse, he'd slept through his alarm and had to rush to get to Harvard in time for his first lesson of the day.

In fact, he was counting on getting his bloody cup of coffee from the cafeteria – he didn't know how Belle had managed to secure the department with actually good coffee, _wonderful_ coffee, but she had and Killian could've married her for that – when a soft knock halted his movements as he was putting papers away in his satchel.

While Killian did not believe not having a single drop of caffeine in his body could make him see things, what he was experiencing now must be a vision.

He arched a brow. «Aren't you a tad too young to attend Harvard, lad?»

Standing right outside of the class was a young boy, not older than ten or eleven, with messy dark brown hair and huge hazel eyes, leaning more towards a darker shade. He wasn't tall, but something in the back of his mind told Killian that he would soon start to grow like weed. There was something in his eyes, no, in his whole appearance that intrigued him.

It was as if he was looking, well, as if he was looking in the mirror.

Killian tilted his head, a wild and impossible thought making way into his mind. Well, it wasn't exactly impossible, perhaps very unlikely to happen. It would also mean answers for Killian, answers he'd searched for years.

«Are you Killian Jones?»

Killian tilted his head, the boy's voice so soft and nasal he just knew it would grow louder and hoarse in a few years.

«Aye,» he hesitantly said, suddenly fearing what the boy would say, what his words and presence would implied. «Can I help you?»

A small smile spread across the lad's face, making Killian's heart clench. _That smile_ … «My name is Henry. I'm your son.»

For years, Killian had dreamed those words. _Years_. And now, now his _son_ was here, in front of him, and Killian was this close to fainting.

The fact that he was a father didn't surprise him, but not because he'd escaped from his duty, quite the opposite, in fact. Although he'd never had a confirmation about Emma's pregnancy, he'd had his suspicions, especially after they'd forgotten to use protections once.

They'd been young and in love and yes, pretty foolish, just like kids their age were. How could they not be? With their upbringing, how could they not allow themselves to be foolish with one another?

Killian had been the new guy, the cool one or the one people loved to laugh at, the one who always kept to himself, reading books in a corner of the library with music blasting in his ears. Until a book fell on his head because some goofy blonde hadn't been careful enough.

«I-I have a son?» Killian stammered, suddenly in charge of his brain functions again. Maybe. He wasn't entirely sure about that.

The boy – _Henry_ – tilted his head, looking straight at him with piercing eyes. «Looks like you already know about me.» Killian couldn't bear the hurt etching his face.

«No, no, I-» _Bloody hell_ , he thought, running a hand through his hair. He needed coffee. He wondered if the boy liked cinnamon in his hot chocolate. Did he love hot chocolate as much as his mother did? _Bloody hell, Emma_. «Where is your mother, lad? I assume you've skipped school, and as much as I'd love to spend time with you, supporting your behaviour won't put me in a good light.»

«Indeed it won't.»

And here he thought his heart couldn't sustain another blow.

Emma was beautiful. More than that, she was breathtaking. Of course, she wasn't the lass he'd last seen almost eleven years ago, her body was fuller in all the right places. She still kept her hair long, loose in soft curls, and still wore red leather jackets, apparently. Her fair skin was still sprinkled with freckles, gold spots he loved to kiss and map. Once he'd designed constellations connecting them, joking that she was a fallen star, much like Yvaine from _Stardust_. Emma had blushed, confessing that was the best compliment someone had ever gave her.

For a moment, Killian wondered if new stars had found their ways on her skin.

«Emma,» he breathed, and it was as if her disappearance didn't hurt, as if years of radio silence from her part had not teared his entire being apart. Many times he'd felt like a fool trying to search for her and their child. In his mind he'd conjured the image of a little girl with blonde hair and huge blue eyes, not because he didn't want a boy – _god_ , now he wanted to know everything about the smart lad in front of him, and desired to be there for him in the future – but because he'd never been able to picture a son with dark hair and his eyes. Or, apparently, Emma's, but with a drop of chestnut in them.

A shy smile appeared on Emma's lips. «Hi, Killian.» She cast him a furtive look, shifting her eyes onto Henry, who was looking at both of them, probably cataloguing the expressions on their faces. He probably was testing them, wondering if it meant they had a chance to get back together. «You're grounded.»

The sigh that left Henry's lips meant he already knew it was coming. Killian couldn't agree more with Emma: as much as he was grateful the lad had come to him, going around Boston alone at ten years old was dangerous. Boston wasn't Storybrooke. He wondered if Emma ever went back, perhaps to look for him… He shook his head slightly, banishing that thought.

«Pardon my ignorance, lo-Emma, but how exactly did you find the lad?» He'd almost bitten his tongue off after his slip, but recovered quickly. The real question, however, was if she'd already known where he was, and for how long.

Emma shrugged, a faint red tinting her cheeks. «GPS on his phone. Easy peasy.»

Another question popped up in Killian's mind, and a quick glance at Henry confirmed his suspicion: he'd done it on purpose.

An awkward silence fell on them, all three shifting uncomfortably their weight on the other leg. At last, Killian spoke. «May offer you a cup of coffee? Or hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon?» Honestly, he relished the way Emma's eyes widened and how they fluttered close for a moment, her blush deepening. «Unless, of course, you don't need to bring Henry back to school.»

«Hot cocoa sounds delicious,» she murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear, «and I guess that Henry would find a way to come back here anyway.» Was it just him, or she was _proud_ of what Henry had done? «Don't you have lessons to teach, though?»

Killian shook his head. «Not until after lunch, thankfully. But I'm running on nothing, not even a sip of water, so a good breakfast is in order, for me, I'm afraid.» As usual, whenever he was around Emma, he found himself spilling more information than he ever would if his brain hadn't stopped working.

Closing the door behind him – at least he was still capable of being a responsible professor – Killian led them to the cafeteria, where both him and Henry ordered two chocolate muffins each, deliberately ignoring Emma's glare.

They sat at a pretty secluded table, Emma holding her cup with both hands to stop herself from fidgeting. She was anxious, Killian could tell, and as much as he knew the anger buried deep inside him would make its way to the surface, he now felt calm enough to let her explain.

Honestly, Killian couldn't blame Emma for how she'd reacted to Sarah's death: she'd been barely seventeen at the time, and of course she didn't want to back in the system, not when she'd spent twelve years in it already. Of course, of course it hurt that she never said goodbye, that she never came back to him. And as much as Killian wanted to wait for her, he also knew he couldn't turn down the scholarship Harvard had offered him. He'd made Liam promise he would immediately tell him if Emma ever stepped over the town line. Alas, such information never came, because Emma never did.

«You must have questions,» she began, «both of you.»

Two dark heads nodded at the same time.

«Why don't you start from the beginning? From…» Killian cut himself off at the sight of the sad expression on her face.

«From Sarah's death,» Emma concluded for him. She nodded, taking a deep breath, before telling him everything.

She told him – _them_ , Henry listening with rapt attention to his mother's words – how she'd run away because she knew how dreadful the system was, knowing that she was making a mistake. Using the money she'd left from the allowances Sarah used to give her and the ones in her old bank account, Emma had made it to Boston first, then to New York. At the time, Emma didn't know she was pregnant, Sarah's rapid illness occupying all her thoughts. Se confessed she would've come back the moment she found out she was pregnant, not because she wanted Killian to feel like he had an obligation towards her, but because she knew she'd been stupid. However, things never went as planned.

Some douche had set her up for a crime she didn't commit, all because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She got eleven months, the cops not believing her when she claimed she was innocent because they'd found expensive stolen watches in her bag. They thought she was the thief's girlfriend, and somehow felt pity for her, but not enough to believe her words.

Killian was furious. Not with her, not right now, but with those bloody idiots and the scumbag who made her fall for his crime. Apparently, given his silence and sad expression, Henry already knew about his mom's past. Silently fuming, he let Emma continue.

«I had Henry in jail, and I-» she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for a brief second, as if the words she needed to say hurt her, ripping her apart. «I almost gave him up for adoption. I was seventeen and didn't know what I would do with my life. There was this program that allowed me to get my GED and help in some bakery. For almost a year I worked in this bakery in Brooklyn. Not the safest place, but the lady there allowed us to have a roof over our heads and a pretty steady income. I still kept in touch with Cleo, one of the policewomen who actually took me under her wing, and she had my case reopened when they caught the guy who sent me to jail. The ass- the _idiot_ ultimately was forced to confess, so the judge granted me a pardon. She also managed to let me inherit Sarah's belongings, which allowed me to rent a better and slightly bigger apartment for us.» The warm smile she gave Henry and the way she leaned forward to ruffle his dark hair made Killian's heart clench. They seemed to work so well together he feared he would feel like an intruder in their lives.

Emma told him she managed to get into college and get a degree, working odd hours. Killian didn't doubt she could do it, he'd always known she was bloody brilliant. However, he was surprised when she told him she became a police officer.

The main reason why she never came back to Storybrooke was because she was afraid, afraid of how Killian would react and that he had moved on or wouldn't be interested in knowing Henry. Before he could even say how daft she'd been, Henry spoke up.

«We moved to Boston for you.»

Clearly, Killian didn't expect that.

«Well, mom wanted to move back to Storybrooke already, but your book and the dedication to her did the trick. And here we are,» Henry concluded with a shrug, a bashful smile. Killian's lips curled up into a heartfelt smile.

«I've been searching for you. For years.» It wasn't an accusation, but he couldn't help his voice to be laced with sadness.

She worried her lower lip between her teeth, shame etching her features. «I changed my last name, I couldn't let myself being tracked down by the system.»

«So you're not Emma Fisher anymore.» It was a dumb thing to say, but the caffeine had yet to kick in and his brain was probably damaged by all the shock he had endured in the span of a few hours.

Emma shook her head. «It's Swan, now.»

«Swan,» he murmured, eyes widening. _Swan_. The nickname Killian had given her after a fight with some girl in high school.

«It was the only name I could come up with. And, well, it was the only other name someone had ever given me that made me feel like I belonged.»

It shouldn't be simple, but it _was_. No, of course, Killian's anger ultimately came to the surface and they did end up fighting, but it didn't last long, especially when they both confessed they still loved each other and ended up having some crazy make-up sex.

They faced the bumpy seas together, which weren't that much bumpy when all three of them just clicked together perfectly, Henry not exactly pushing for them to get back together but he was smart enough to give them that subtle push. They always put Henry first, they wouldn't have it any other way, but found time to get to know each other again, to rediscover the love they'd never lost, buried for years in the depths of their hearts.

Emma and Henry moved in with Killian six months after that fatidic day and, no less than a month later, they made their way back to Storybrooke for a quick trip. The only one in town to know about them was Liam, of course, who welcomed Emma with a fierce hug and immediately competed for the place of "best Uncle". It didn't matter than he was the only uncle Henry had, but it still filled Emma's stomach with butterflies. Liam had always been kind to her, like her own big brother, and discovering he didn't hate her for running away had literally made her cry.

Those butterflies, though, could never compare to the ones Emma felt when Killian went down on one knee on the sand, giving her a speech about how wonderful she was and what a gift she'd given him by keeping Henry and allowing him back into their lives, and how he wanted to adopt Henry and give him – _them_ – his last name if she so desired.

There was a "yes" whispered – or shouted – between the kisses as they fell together on the sand, right in front of the lighthouse Killian broke in to when he brought her on their first date.

Liam and Henry stopped watching through the spyglass from behind the window when Killian broke into the lighthouse again.

Emma changed her surname one last time the day of her wedding, along with Henry, finally choosing the one that better suited her, the one she always felt _really_ belonged to her but never had the courage to take.

And, in the end, Killian got to meet a little girl with fair blonde hair and the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. His daughter.


	9. Through a lover's eyes

**16 for the dialogue lines! - "I believe in you."**

The aseptic smell infesting the room made her stomach churn. She was sick of it, literally. It'd been almost a month, yet she kept fighting the nausea for him.

Twenty-eight days. Killian Jones, her best friend, the most wonderful person she knew, her love had been in a coma for twenty-eight days.

Emma had only been told what happened, but it was brutal nonetheless. There'd been a shooting, and of course Killian had to play bloody hero, trying to calm down the man with a gun going crazy in the hospital lobby. Eight people had died, three had gotten out of danger only last week, and the best surgeon in the whole city of New York was in a fucking _coma_.

She knew, oh, how she knew, how much Killian would blame himself.

Saving lives had always been his calling, his love for medicine something Emma never quite understood, not until he came home one night during their first year of being roommates, devastated over the loss of a child. He wasn't even leading the operation, his competences allowing him only to be an assistant, but the loss wretched him nonetheless. It'd been the first time she ever saw him so… helpless. He'd cried all night long in her arms, Emma never once letting him go.

From then on, Emma had cheered for him, encouraging him to go on with his studies and pursue the career in surgery, as he'd always wanted to.

But now… now who was going to save _him_?

Over the years, Killian had built a well deserved reputation, and even the accident that nearly costed him his hand and career never deterred him. Emma didn't let it happen, not when they'd almost lost-

Emma took a deep breath, squeezing Killian's left hand in hers, fingers absentmindedly tracing the scars over his wrist, wet lips kissing every knuckle, lingering for a few seconds on the ring finger, just where his wedding ring usually rested, now an anchor keeping her with her feet down on earth, hanging from the chain around her neck. Every time she moved, it clinked against the swan pendant he'd gifted her for her first birthday they spent together.

«I miss you,» Emma whispered against her skin, bloodshot yes closed as she uttered those words, voice hoarse from hours spent crying.

Emma Swan had never missed someone, mostly because she never had someone to miss until she met Killian.

They'd met in front of the message board as he was hanging an ad for a roommate whilst she searched for one. She'd snatched it out of his hand, cutting him with the paper. «I like it, I take it,» she'd said, challenging him to tell her no. The look of bewilderment on his face was one she wanted to snap a photo at. Little did she know how her life would soon change.

They worked well together, _very_ well, always a team even in those weeks when they barely caught glimpse of one another. Killian worked odd turns at the hospital while Emma only left the library when someone of the staff reminded her it was around closing hour and she dragged herself home.

Killian lost his first patient almost a year into their cohabitation. That night, many things changed.

Albeit bantering like a true couple, Emma and Killian had become friends first, teasing and supporting each other, sharing heartbreaks and hopes for the future even when they'd never uttered those words aloud. Besides, being wrapped up in his arms was better than being anywhere else.

A shaky smile stretched her lips. «I want to bring Henry to the observatory,» she began, voice trembling. «When you wake up, that is, I don't know a thing about stars or planets, and you know he loves when _you_ are the one doing the storytelling.»

It'd been their first date, and it was a pretty damn good first kiss under the stars. What they did later, the stars didn't witness – until a few years later, when they did risk getting caught just to try the thrill of outdoor sex. Definitely worth it.

Emma took a deep breath. «I think I've collected enough drawings to make a ream. They're all piled on your nightstand, chronologically, of course. Your kid is much like you, and I wouldn't have him any other way.»

More dates – in and out – had followed, and they never actually labelled it: all that mattered was that they knew it wasn't just a fling, that it was more. So much more. They never cared about their friends finding out or judging them, though they couldn't deny how pleased they'd been when everyone gasped at their first kiss in public.

«Henry insists on having fish _at least_ twice a week, and god forbid he doesn't drink grapefruit juice every morning at breakfast – with a pop-tart, of course.» A laugh, probably the first real one in weeks, shook her frame. «He really is the best of us mixed together.»

The wedding hadn't been a big affair, but it was what they both desired, held in a little church not far from the city, Killian dressed in all black and hair on the right side of dishevelled – Emma had strictly forbidden he use gel of any sorts – while she'd worn a simple white a-line dress, hair tumbling over her shoulders and a flower crown on the top of her head. It'd been Killian's only request. Well, aside from the _actual_ request – really romantic, on a beach in Miami at night, in a private beach he'd _rented_ for the entire week – to marry him.

The sand in private places was worth the joy of the moment.

Emma sighed, reaching out to combe her fingers through his too long hair: she loved them a bit long, but not like that, not when she couldn't tease him and see his reaction, see his face flush a deep red and the tips of his ears lighting up like Christmas lights. «He inherited our stubbornness, it seems: he refuses to read a new book without you. Or a new chapter for that matter. We're stuck at when the Pevensies go through the wardrobe. I'm so tempted to go on and read what happens next myself.»

Henry was more a surprise baby rather than a planned one, but no less loved. At first, Emma didn't even realize she was late, and when she did, Killian already knew. _Of course_ he knew. The pregnancy was what made them take a decision about moving out of their old apartment faster, but with their savings and what they earned, finding a bigger apartment wasn't much trouble. Moving, however, had been another matter entirely, creating more tension that had ever existed between the two of them, but, well, make up sex with a pregnant, hormones-driven woman? Heaven on earth.

She traced his eyebrow with her thumb, moving down to the scar on his right cheek. Emma closed her eyes, memories of the incident flashing before her eyelids.

It'd happened when Henry was barely two, a drunk driver hit their car as they came back to New York after a family trip in Maine for Christmas. Killian got the worst of it, almost losing his ability to operate, while Emma and Henry only got hit by glass fragments and made out of it with a few bruises.

Even through hard times, their family made it through without crumbling, probably because they both knew what being alone meant, and even when they wanted to run, they stayed.

«Do you remember what I kept telling you when you didn't think you could be a surgeon ever again? That it didn't matter what you thought, because hell knows if you've been pessimistic over everything concerning you and unbelievably optimistic whenever it came to me, and that what mattered was that I believed in you. And I still do, Killian, I believe in you. I believe that you'll wake up and get back to me, get back to _us_.» Emma was crying in the earnest now, fat tears falling onto his hospital gown, drenching it. «I need you, my love, I need you to come home. I-I can't-» she chocked on her own tears, pressing her forehead against Killian's. She inhaled deeply, not able to catch his scent, submerged by the hospital room's. «I'm going to pick up Henry, now. He's had his swim lesson, tonight. He's becoming quite the dolphin, but misses your teaching methods.» _He misses you_.

After delicately pressing a kiss to his too cracked lips, Emma pressed another kiss to his forehead, something they both did absentmindedly, a gesture that meant everything.

The quiet, steady bip Killian's heart followed her through the door, but it was the sound of a gruffy, croaked voice that stopped her dead in her tracks, making her whirl around, blue eyes finally looking at her once more.

«I guess- I guess I'll tell my children that I believe in you, too.»

 _Of course_ he knew.


	10. It is by suffering that human beings bec

_**cocohook38: "i can literally see newborn angel jones mocking archangel emma " ... well i'm waiting now**_

 _Bloody hell_ , he cursed, reaching up with his hand to touch his forehead. His head was pounding like there was no tomorrow. He'd not even drunk that much last night. Wait, no. He'd not drunk _at all_.

Slowly focusing on his surroundings, Killian noticed he wasn't in his room. To be honest, it didn't look like a room at all. No, that was wrong: it _had_ four walls and a ceiling, but the light was just… wrong, too bright for a room with no windows and-

His bones snapped as he whirled his head around, eyes wide as he saw no bloody door.

Panic coursed through him.

 _No_ , he thought in fear, scrambling to get onto his feet and failing completely as unimaginable pain shot up his spine, sending him on what he supposed was the floor. It was a floor, wasn't it? He couldn't feel the coolness of tiles or other material used to cover the ground, but it was solid, although a tad too soft than a normal floor.

Where was he? Had someone kidnapped him? Gold? That little imp! Killian knew he was so close to take him down, but he'd been careful, hadn't he?

«Apparently, not.»

Killian's head shot up at the feminine voice filling his ears, neck snapping once again. _Fuck_ , he thought, slowly rolling onto his back. The ache right behind his left shoulder was still there and he had to close his eyes to make it stop, _hoping_ it would.

«It won't take long.»

That voice, again.

Was he talking out loud and not realizing it? It must be, no one was able to-

«Uh, yes, we are. You will be, too. That's probably why your head hurts like he-» The voice was cut off by a loud cough. «Anyway, my name's Remiel, but I prefer Emma.»

Killian frowned, the headache diminishing a bit, just enough to allow him to think clearly. Who was this woman? He'd never heard such a name, and no Emma was sided with Gold, he knew that.

Silence filled the room, and when he could finally feel just a low buzz in his head, Killian slowly sat up, opening his eyes and adjusting to the blinding light he could feel almost burning him through his eyelids.

He couldn't possibly fathom how his jaw was still attached to the upper part of his face.

In front of him was an angel.

And then the angel laughed, a crystal laughter that filled his ears like a lullaby and made something deep inside him shift, as if it'd just adjusted, as if it'd just found its rightful place.

The angel – oh, how right he was and he didn't even understand it yet – was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, with long golden hair, glimmering like a halo in the light – and her laughter grew louder, impossibly more angelic.

«P-please, stop,» the angel laughed, drying the tears at the corners of her eyes. Killian swore he could fear his heart stop at the sight of those bright gree-

 _Wait a minute_ , he thought, instinctively bringing his hand to his neck, checking for a pulse. There was none. How-

The echo of the woman's laugh died almost abruptly as she fell on her knees next to him, a concerned expression marring her face. She had freckles so light it looked as if someone had sprinkled light gold over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

«I'm afraid there's no good way to tell you this, Killian Jones,» she began, lifting a hand and gently brushing dark strands of hair away from his forehead before placing it over his wrist, his fingers pressing hard into his neck, wanting, _needing_ to feel the rhythmical pulsating of blood coursing through his veins.

«How?» he chocked out, rage filling him. Could he still feel emotions, though? Even if-

A sad smile ticked the woman's lips downwards – was it a smile, still? «It was an ambush, Gold shot you in the back. The bullet hit your heart.»

Unable of containing it, Killian let out the bubbling maniacal laugh as bile rose to his throat. «Always the coward, that crocodile,» he spat. Faint memories of all the times they'd met, a sneer on the older man's face, so sure he would never get caught. It appeared he wouldn't indeed. A thought crossed his mind, and he was about to speak when Emma gently shook her head.

«No, you can't haunt him, you're not a ghost, and our laws are strict when it comes to interfering with human beings. Unless you're a guardian angel or want to become a fallen, that is. And trust me, you _don't_ want to fall.»

There was something in her words and in the tone of her voice that told him she knew all too well what she was talking about. As she gulped and averted her eyes, Killian had his confirmation. Then, fury rose inside him like a bonfire's flames did towards the sky. «Stay out of my head,» he hissed, feeling like a wounded animal protecting himself from his predator. Only, he actually was a _dead_ animal and his killer still alive.

Emma was quick to mask her stricken expression with a gentle one. «My apologies, it's been so long since we've had a newborn, and way longer since I was the one to welcome them into this life.»

Killian tilted his head, suddenly and strangely curious. «That so? Care to enlighten me about that, love?» Aye, he wanted to know more about her, just as much as he wanted to know more about the… afterlife.

No, he'd not accepted he was actually dead, yet, or at least he didn't believe so, all the five stages of grief swirling inside him and creating a maelstrom he really couldn't sedate. Perhaps, her talking about…. _afterlife_ could distract him.

Apparently, Emma didn't seem too eager to answer his questions. She looked rather on edge, as if she was being watched. As if she was being tested.

Instinctively, he reached out and took her hand in his. The gesture startled both, but neither of them pulled away.

«You are an angel, now. Well, a guardian angel. In training. God, I'm so bad at this,» she muttered to herself.

«Language,» Killian quipped with a smirk, unable of controlling himself.

That earned him a shocked expression and a golden eyebrow raised. «Are you mocking an archangel?»

Killian felt his lips twitch. «Yes. Yes I am.»

It took Emma just a few seconds before her lips broke into a smile and then into a laugh, and Killian wasn't kidding when he thought of it as an angelic sound no matter the irony.

He smiled, dimples forming on his cheeks when said smile widened as she lifted her bright green eyes to meet his.

Perhaps the afterlife wouldn't be so bad, after all.


	11. It is by suffering that human beings pt2

**but… but where is the rest? #i'm so fluffing addicted #i wanna see emma putting back into his place at some point lol #or killian realised he got wings #and then so many other thibgs**

 **(follow up of the previous chapter)**

«What in God's name do you think you're doing?»

He felt pulled backwards, back into the shadows of the alley. «Language,» Killian muttered. It had become a joke of sorts, but now it merely was a pissed grumble.

«Fuck language, Killian, you _can't_ go out there.»

«But he needs me!»

Even if he wasn't looking at her, Killian knew her lips were turning downwards. «I understand, Killian, trust me, I _do_ , but you can't interfere.»

Angrily, he turned towards her, blue eyes thundering. Emma blanched a little at his furious expression. «Then what use it is to be his guardian angel if I can't do anything to help him save from watching from afar?»

Emma's hand found his cheek and Killian wanted to hate the way his eyes fluttered close as he leaned against her warm palm, seeking comfort in her touch. He really hated angelic rules. And to say, he'd been a cop and was supposed to follow them. Now that he was an angel, rules couldn't be broken as easily as humans could.

«I know you hate it, Killian, but please trust me when I say it's for your own good.» A shaky breath left her lips, eyes closing as if she was at war with herself. «There's only one moment when you can be with him without breaking the rules, but you need to be careful, Killian, _very_ careful.»

Killian tilted his head, eyeing her carefully. There was so much she wasn't telling him, both concerning rules and herself: while the former he didn't like, he could be patient for the latter. He had all eternity, after all.

Licking her lips – a gesture Killian's suddenly hungry eyes followed with interest – Emma glanced at the boy in the park, all alone, fighting back the tears as he picked up the ruined comics he'd spent his savings over. Killian could tell the moment her heart broke, tears pooling in her eyes. She looked away. «You can visit his dreams, but you mustn't tell him who you are. All you can offer him is company and guidance. He won't remember your features or your voice, but he will remember the dreams and, hopefully, heed your advices.»

«You seem to be full of hopefullies, love,» he bit out, unable of being completely grateful for her words.

A tight smile crossed her face. «Yeah, well, I'm the archangel of hope, I'm bound to be hopeful or something.» Killian's eyebrows shot up at that, but Emma waved her hands around, scrunching her nose. «That's not the point! I have different duties, nothing that concerns you right now. _You_ are a guardian angel, you have to guide and protect your humans from afar. How the he-» she bit her tongue, wincing. Killian supposed she cut her tongue. «How can you be the perfect guardian angel when it comes to Ariel but not to Henry?»

They both knew it was mostly rhetorical, given that she'd had access to the memories of his past life. He and Henry were both orphans, and sometimes Killian just wanted to be human again, find that boy and give him a home. He'd never felt such a deep connection with anyone else, not as a human and definitely not since he became an angel, since he started to feel _too much_ given his connection to the humans in his charge.

Emma sighed, resting her forehead against his shoulder. Killian tried not to wince at that; it wasn't a normal gesture for her. She looked tired.

«I'm sorry, Killian, I just can't allow you to break the rules.» She spread her wings, magnificent, pure white wings and brought them away, back to the Silver City, in what had become Killian's home. It was strange how the City looked so modern and not all fluffy clouds. It was better that way.

Angels didn't need to eat or drink or sleep or, well, pretty much everything humans needed to do to be presentable, but it didn't stop them from doing all those things.

In fact, he'd discovered Emma had a very sweet tooth and a not-so-secret-love for junk food. It was no surprise she was now sitting in his living room with a mug of steaming hot cocoa in her hands, legs bent beneath her.

Another mug was waiting for him on the coffee table.

Following her silent order, he sat next to her, staying silent until she finally spoke.

«I fell, once.»

Killian was thankful the hot drink was still on the table.

«I fell for a man. I would even say he's taken advantage of me, but I've been foolish. I lost my grace. Having… sexual encounters with humans is not exactly forbidden, we need to be careful, you know, with all the Nephilim stuff. But… I disowned everything I ever know, and for what? A man I felt sorry for because he ran away after his mother did the same, escaping a father that loved the power he held over people more than his own son? I've seen so much pain during my existence. I believe I reached the breaking point when I met him. He didn't have a guardian, and it wasn't my duty, never has been, I mostly dealt with divine visions and being the Charon of Heaven.» She smiled softly at the nickname; Killian had no doubt whoever came up with that was a very special person to her. After a solid minute she spent moving the rim of the mug left and right along her lips, a very, very distracting gesture, Emma blinked twice, focusing her gaze back on him. The blush spreading over her neck and cheeks was lovely. «Anyway, it took me being betrayed by him and losing another person I came to care about like a brother before I regained my grace. Since then, though I kept the title of archangel, I wasn't treated like one ever again, having to work my way up. I started as a guardian angel, looking over the pregnant girlfriend my friend left behind. It was partly my fault, it was a fitting punishment, but I never deemed it as such. I could guide her, I talked to her in her dreams, listening to her doubts and cries as she repeatedly shouted that she could never be a mother and that she was thinking about giving the child up for adoption. I never talked her out of it, it was her decision to make, so I could only offer her a shoulder on which to cry upon. Only once I told her that Graham was proud of her, when she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. It wasn't exactly breaking the rules, but I pulled some strings and cashed in some favour.»

There were tears streaming down her face now. Killian wasted no time in gathering her in his arms, placing the porcelain mug on the table with a clink. Emma buried her head into his chest as he rubbed her back.

«She called her Emma.»

Many times Killian had wondered if his heart could still break. In that moment, he swore it could. «It's a wonderful name,» he murmured into her hair, placing then a kiss on the crown of her head. Killian could feel her smile against his body.

«I don't want you to make the same mistake I did, Killian,» she said at last, pulling away, and he swore the short distance she put between them hurt. «I know Henry's just a kid, and the fact that you're ready to break the rules to help him is admirable, but now it's a child, and then who could it be? You've been given a second change, Killian, and I can't lo-» Again, her eyes closed, making him wonder what the following words were and what they meant. Deep down, Killian already knew. «Please, Killian. Be careful.»

Nodding his promise, understanding where she was coming from, Killian leaned back, allowing her to drape herself over his body in an embrace both knew was extremely intimate but neither wanted to put a stop to.

Evening came soon, and so the time in which Killian could wander Henry's dreams. Egoism wasn't befitting of angels, yet the desire of just staying there, laying with Emma wrapped in his arms and her soft hair threatening to suffocate him at his every breath grew stronger by the minute.

Ultimately, it was Emma who stood first, stretching her arms upwards. Wrong move. Killian had to look away, the tips of his ears as red as the leather jacket Emma was wearing, the same one beneath which the white tee rose up, exposing her toned stomach.

«Come on, Jones,» she told him, smiling so brightly Killian felt compelled to smile in return. Oh, she did have the beauty of angels indeed. «You have a date with destiny.»

Reality came crashing over him as he stood in front of her. He couldn't do it, not with her in the same room. There was a reason why he spent most of his time on Earth, looking after his protegés, and why he used teleportation instead of flying down. Angels rarely used that method, but Killian… He never could find it within himself to spread his own wings.

Wings, he had wings. And he'd never used them.

Emma's deep frown only worsened his guilt. «You can go,» he said with a tight smile, «I'll be there in a moment, I'll just put these awa-»

«Cut the crap, Jones,» she hissed, looking now the authoritarian angelic soldier she'd been for millennia. He bit his tongue to hold back the "language" quip dying to fall off his lips. Even if she wasn't reading his thoughts – something he'd forbidden her to do after their first encounter – she could easily read _him_. _An open book_ , she'd told him once: to her, Killian was an open book. Another secret he had was that Emma was an open book to him, too. She probably knew that, too.

Bowing his head with a sigh, Killian scratched behind his neck. «I've never spread my wings.» _I don't want to look_ , it was what he truly meant. «I-I don't-»

Her fingers on his lips stop more words from tumbling out. Stepping closer, Emma smiled softly, no pity in her eyes, just… infinite _something_. «What are you afraid of, Killian?» The dulcet tone of her voice made his shoulder sag, suddenly relaxed. It wasn't her angelic power or some other bulls- _well_ , something else, it just was _Emma_.

«I don't want to see,» Killian confessed, this time his forehead coming in contact with hers gently, seeking comfort. «I'm afraid of what they will look like.»

Her hand hadn't left his face, gentle fingers caressing his chin. «Your wings are nothing to be afraid of, Killian.» Somehow, he knew it wasn't his wings she was referring to. «Let me see, please.»

Her plea was like Moses' order to the sea, the last push he needed. Somehow, Emma was the last ingredient he'd searched for his entire life to perfect the ultimate recipe.

It stung a little, at the beginning, but somehow it was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. The wings bore no weight he would dare say they weren't even there. Perhaps it was worse than he thought, perhaps-

«My God,» Emma's quiet gasp and words startled him, «they are magnificent.»

Slowly opening his eyes, Killian saw she'd stepped back to better look at his wings, hands covering her mouth open in awe. Daring to follow her example, Killian slowly turned his head, only to be met with a wall of pure white feathers. They were enormous, probably as big as Emma's though not as beautiful, but they weren't rotten. Irrationally, Killian had thought his past missteps could've affected his wings, corrupted and blackened his heart to the point of no return, even if he was a newborn angel.

 _I have wings_ , he realized after a few more minutes, the light they radiated almost too much for his eyes. He glanced away, looking at how Emma was still transfixed, enchanted. It made his heart swell with pride.

«I-I shouldn't,» he heard Emma mutter to herself, hand raised between them.

«Why not?»

She shook her head, clenching her hands into fists, knuckles becoming almost as white as his wings. «No angel touches another's wings.»

Gulping, Killian stepped towards her. Thankfully, Emma didn't take a step back. «What if I allowed you to?»

Another shake. «No, you don't understand, it's too personal, it's like touching a soul.»

Gently, he wrapped his fingers around hers, bringing her hand to his mouth to place soft kisses over her knuckles. «What if I _wanted_ you to?»

The only sound he heard was Emma's strangled moan before the equivalent of an electric charge shot right through him, setting his body aflame from head to toe. Emma's left hand was buried in the soft feathers of his wing, the contact leaving him breathless and mildly – nay, _very_ – aroused.

Killian could almost _feel_ her reaching inside him, her touch warming him from the inside out, cradling his soul like she did his cheeks.

Green met blue, the same wrecked expression mirrored on the other's face.

It was Killian who moved first, pouncing and capturing Emma's waist with his hands, hers otherwise occupied with his wing and hair, tugging at the latter with force she'd never used on him. She tasted like hot chocolate and something he couldn't quite recognize, mostly a sensation instead of a flavour: the feeling of the sun on salt-covered skin after a bath in the sea as a soft breeze chased the heat away.

As his lips discovered hers, untiredly, Killian could see a bright light through his eyelids. He didn't stop kissing her, caressing her waist beneath her tee as his other hand moved upwards towards her hair,

When their wings touched, Killian felt as if heavenly fire had wrapped around his body, ready to consume him.

In that moment, Killian swore the world could come tumbling down on him and he wouldn't care less, not when Emma was kissing him and his soul had finally met its mate.


	12. Field of paper flowers and candy clouds

**okay so if you are up to prompts then I have one for ya: Alice (Emma's biological daughter in here) is about 5/6. She has a nightmare about a witch coming to get her for her magic (because she's the product of true love twice over) so she has powerful light magic; she goes to her parents' room for comfort and sneaks into their bed with her Mr Rabbit toy. Or AU: Henry introducing Ivy to his (biological) parents and sister.**

 **Chapter 12 - Field of paper flowers and candy clouds of lullaby**

Whenever she has a nightmare, Alice Jones doesn't cry.

Well, not quite. She does, especially when the nightmare is so realistic she can _feel_ it within her bones, tasting the air she's breathing on her tongue when all she wants to do with it is catching snowflakes – especially the ones her aunt Elsa makes for her, each one tasting differently, though mostly chocolate.

Tonight's nightmare is no different: it has tears pooling in her eyes and running down her chubby cheeks and her fingers almost strangling poor Mr. Rabbit. Whispering an apology to the plush toy the Hatter stitched for her, Alice hugs him close with one arm and uses the other to throw away the blankets.

It's late into the night, and nothing in the house moves. Usually, when the nightmares aren't this bad, all she needs to do is waving her hand and the soft sound of waves fills the air, calming her down immediately as the nightlight perched on her nightstand projects constellation she searches so she'll fall asleep again, her own alternative to counting sheep.

After nightmares like this, however, the calm sounds of the water and the beautiful stars scattered all over the ceiling are not enough: she needs her parents, needs to feel them being alive still. A sob rips its way out her throat, tears spilling more freely as she makes a run for the door and opens it, padding through the house until she's faced with the white door of her parents' bedroom.

Biting her lower lip to control another sob, the witch's eyes still looking at her if she closes hers, Alice pushes the door open and quietly makes her way to her father's side of the bed, knowing he's already on high alert.

He may bit older, but Killian is still one hell of a captain, and his senses are always on high alert, especially when it comes to his Starfish.

As soon as she reaches the bed, Alice is scooped up by a strong arm and placed between her parents. Her mother is slowly coming to her senses, strands of hair sticking to her mouth as she does so.

Alice wriggles her way beneath the blankets, curling her body against her father's naked chest. She soaks in his warmth, the loud thumping of his heart in her ear a welcome sound. More tears follow, and soon she's trembling in Killian's arms as he quietly hums her lullaby, knowing it will calm her down. Questions will come after, but for now she lets him work his own magic on her.

A warm palm strokes her back, lips find the back of her head. Her mother is awake, slightly tense. This hasn't happened in a while, which is not a good sign. Soon, faint blue spheres twirl above them, bright enough to illuminate their faces without being uncomfortable for the eyes.

Immediately, Alice sags immediately, snuggling further into her parents' embrace.

Killian hums to her until her tremors subside, bright blue eyes fixated on the orbs fluctuating above her in a relaxing way, so much she almost feels herself drift off.

«Want to tell me about it?» Emma's gruffy voice soothes her, the scent of her vanilla shampoo helping in the task.

Turning whilst still enveloped in her father's arms, Alice turned to face her mother, biting her lower lip to stop it from wobbling. Drawing a shaky breath, the little girl opens her mouth to speak. «I was in a tower,» she says slowly, her mind wanting to push the nightmare away yet knowing the only way she'll succeed is telling her parents, «and an evil witch was laughing, she wanted my powers.»

Nothing can stop more tears from wetting her cheeks and probably drowning poor Mr. Rabbit. On a soft "oh, baby", Emma shuffles forward, taking Alice onto her chest, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat music to the little girl's ears.

«Nothing will happen to you,» Emma swears, fingers running gently through her hair, «no evil witch can take away your powers. You don't have to fear, there's a whole town here ready to protect you, along with our friends in other realms.»

Alice knows what's left unsaid, knows her mother would never stop fighting for her well-being, nor would have mercy if someone laid a hand on her. It's there that the difference between Emma Swan and Snow White lies: the former can be ruthless.

Emma nuzzles her daughter's cheek, kissing the tears away. «I promise, sweetheart, you have nothing to fear. You'll be safe. You'll _always_ be safe.»

Nodding her head franticly, Alice exhales and better settles half over her mother whilst her legs rest on the mattress, Killian's chest pressed against her back.

At the rhythm of her mother's heart beating steadily beneath her ear and of her grandmother's lullaby softly whispered in the other one, Alice's eyelids flutter close, all the bad dreams banished.

* * *

Henry Jones has done many dangerous things in his life. Hell, he's gone to Boston when he was ten, all alone, to find his birth mother. He fought against Pan. He went to the Underworld to save his dad, and just like he did, Henry roamed the realms, fighting evil and, ultimately, falling in love.

The next obvious step is introducing the woman who stole his heart to his family.

If he is agitated, then his girlfriend feels ten times worse.

«Stop that,» he whispers low in her ear, twirling a lock of dark hair with his fingers.

Her dark eyes roll skywards. «Easy for you to say, you didn't try to kill your own step-sister and mother,» Drizella mumbles under her breath, torturing her plump lower lip.

Ducking his head, Henry brushes a kiss on her cheek, Drizella's lips twitching. «If there wasn't room for redemption and second chances, right now I wouldn't have a family, I wouldn't have _you_.» He's circled her tiny form from behind, chin resting atop her head as they both look at the Victorian blue house.

«You have such a charming way with words, Jones,» Drizella sighs, tilting her head back and kissing the underside of his jaw. «Thank you.»

Pressing a kiss on her hair, Henry straightens up. «Ready to meet the Jones?»

«If I say no, will you cancel on your parents? _And_ your sister?»

The thought of cancelling on Alice frightens him. She wouldn't throw a tantrum, _never_ , but she would be highly disappointed and would find a way to let him know. The little pest is subtle when it comes to revenge.

A shudder runs through him, earning a giggle from Drizella. «Thought so.»

Rolling his eyes, Henry takes her hand in his and leads her towards the house. The door opens as he reaches for the first step, making him falter as his little sister stands there, arms crossed over her chest in their mom's fashion, her expression all their father's. She's studying him, not Drizella, which relaxes him.

«Permission to come aboard, Captain?» Henry asks seriously, raising an eyebrow and fighting a grin, just like Alice is doing right now.

Without a word, she launches into his arms, knocking the wind out of him. «I've missed you,» Alice mumbles into his neck.

Given the different flow of time, more time passed for Henry, yet he understands why for a child roughly six months seemed an eternity.

«I've missed you too, Starfish.»

After squeezing the air out of his lungs, Alice wriggles her way out of his arms, landing gracefully on her feet. She's now looking at Drizella, head tilted to one side, as if trying to read her. «You're pretty,» is the first thing Alice tells her, making his girlfriend blush.

 _This is new_ , Henry muses, watching the two of them amused. Before either of them can say something, out of the corner of his eyes, Henry catches sight of his mother. A smile spread on their faces, Emma rushing to him.

God, he's missed his family.

«Hi, mom.»

«Henry,» she breathes, hugging him tightly. Last she saw him, they were in the second Enchanted Forest, everyone attending Tiana and Naveen's wedding – _finally_ , he might add – but for Henry that happened one year ago or so. His head hurts even trying to explain it to himself and he's the bloody Author.

She kisses his forehead, something he doesn't find uncomfortable, not in front of anyone, because that's his _mother_ , and he missed her like hell. «You're even taller than your father, now.»

A smirk forms on his face. «Guess I take after grandpa.» A thought crosses his mind and fear starts filling him. «We're not having lunch with them, are we?» As much as he loves his grandparents, they can be a touch overwhelming.

Emma scoffs. «God, no, but I promised them dinner. There's little I can do to keep them away save from changing the locks and threatening them, you know that.» After his confirmation in the form of another eyeroll, Emma turns towards Drizella, who's still being judged by Alice, neither of them breaking their locked gazes.

«You have magic,» Alice states, as if she waited for Emma to give them her attention.

Drizella smiles tightly, nodding. «That I do.»

«And it's neither dark or light.»

At that, his girlfriend tilts her head. «I've done many bad things with my magic, very few of my spells served a good cause.»

«But your magic can be good,» Alice retorts, a wide smile appearing on her face. _Sneaky little Starfish_ , Henry thinks fondly, carefully watching her mother. He knows – or at least suspects – what she's thinking, that even if Drizella did unspeakable things, she can be trusted, perhaps not immediately, but with time. It's all he can hope for: that they give her a chance, like he did.

All Drizella can do is shrug, embarrassed. «I guess you can say that.» He's never seen her so speechless, so he leaves his mother's side and wrap one arm around her waist, pulling her to him in his father's fashion and dropping a kiss on her head.

As if summoned, steps sound behind them and Alice squeals in delight, running towards Killian, who scoops her up and peppers her face with kisses. «Hello, Starfish,» he greets her, nuzzling his nose in her cheek.

Sadness settles inside Henry: he never got to do that, not when he was so young. He missed so much because of Regina's curse he'd always resent her for that. Shaking his head, Henry leaves those thoughts be and grins widely as his father reaches them, wrapping his free arm around his son's shoulders.

«I'm so glad you're back, lad,» Killian tells him, raising his hand to ruffle his hair as if he still were a ten-year-old. It makes Henry blush, but just like with his mother, he doesn't step away from his father: much like him, Killian missed so much. They all did, which is why they'll gladly take any expression of affection.

Henry's wide smile matches his father's. «Me too, dad, me too.»

Killian's blue eyes dart to Drizella, her complexion red in embarrassment. Henry smirks, knowing all too well his father's effect on the people. It doesn't bother him that his girlfriend has been struck by the Jones' charm, especially when he knows his own looks make her weak. Not that she'd admit it out loud, of course. Drizella is too proud, which is one of the reasons why he loves her.

«You must be the girl who stole my brother's heart.» Although slightly wary, Killian's demeanor isn't unfriendly, quite the opposite in fact.

«Tying him up and holding a dagger at his throat is more likely,» Drizella mutters, flushing a deep red when she realizes she's spoken aloud.

Soon, Emma's laughter fills Henry's ears – now a red, too, much like his father's whenever he's embarrassed. Killian chuckles, eyebrow arched as he glances at his son.

«History has a strange sense of humour, doesn't it?» Killian asks, wiggling his eyebrows at Emma, clearly recalling their second first meeting. That's quite the tale.

At Drizella's confused expression, Emma nods her to follow her inside, ready to fill the brunette on the details Henry neglected to mention.

Henry smiles, heart fluttering in his chest as he watches them walk away, different as day and night but not very much. He has to admit, though, their love story, their meeting, even, has been very similar if not identical to his parent's second one. If he asked his grandmother, Snow White would totally go down the fate route, and she wouldn't be so far away from the truth.

«Tell me, lad,» Killian asks, mirth shining in his blue eyes as a smirk curves his lips and his eyebrows wiggle, «do you need help choosing the ring?»

Henry winks, wrapping an arm around Killian's shoulders as they follow the girls, his fingers reaching out to tickle Alice's neck, making her laugh. «Already got that covered, dad.»


	13. Fluff rush

**Prompt: Modern AU (Alice and Henry are biological siblings) Emma and Killian are out on a date so teenage Henry babysits 5 year old Alice. The rest is up to you!**

 **13 - Fluff rush**

Date night is not unusual for Emma and Killian. What is, however, is leaving their daughter with Henry for the whole night. It's not that she doesn't trust her son, she does, he's the best behaved kid she's ever known and she knows he would never put his little sister in danger.

Yet, leaving the kids alone always took a toll on her. Henry was sixteen, already responsible and wasn't one of those guys who would throw a party the moment his parents were out of sight.

«You know Mary Margaret is just one door down the street and will-»

«And she will help us in case we accidentally burn the house down,» Henry sighs, clearly exasperated. «Seriously, guys, just go out and enjoy yourselves.»

Emma bites down on her lip. Hard. She's about to take off her coat – and, in doing so, revealing the killer dress she's bought for the occasion – when Killian's hands find her shoulders, pulling her into his firm chest. _Nope_ , she's definitely going out tonight.

«Be nice, lad,» Killian admonishes his son, a clear warning in his blue eyes. As much as he loves his son, Killian can still be strict when needed; leaving him alone in the house is a very serious matter. «We'll be home by midnight, and you'd better have Alice in bed way before that.» He doesn't need to say that _Henry_ , too, needs to be in bed before midnight: they all know he'll either go out like a light after taking care of his sister or be still awake, reading a book or a comic.

Henry nods solemnly. «Dinner, a bit of Disney, and then a bedtime story. Starfish is in good hands.»

The smile on Emma's face is one of the brightest Henry's ever seen. She cups his cheeks, pressing a kiss on his forehead and oh, god, how tall he is now. «I know, kid. I'm not doubting your big brother skills, I just worry. Comes with the job.»

He chuckles, hugging her tightly and kissing her cheek. Something – or rather, _someone_ – bumps into his legs, and Alice tugs at his sweatshirt. Releasing his mother from his embrace, Henry bends and scoops his sister up. It's difficult to stifle a groan when the heels of her bare feet dig into his thigh and side. That girl is a menace. He still loves her, though.

«Mama!» she squeals in delight, unwrapping her arms from around Henry's shoulders and leaning towards Emma, almost giving Henry a heart attack. «You look very pretty.» And then she winks. Because of course Alice helped her choose the dress.

Emma winks back at her, peppering her round cheeks with kisses until Alice is a giggling mess and Henry's arms hurt.

A mocking gasp turns their attention on Killian, who's holding a hand over his heart. «Am I not pretty, Starfish?»

Alice grins, shaking her head no.

It's Killian's turn to make Alice squeal, but it's even worse, because his stubble _tickles_ her. And he loves to blow raspberries on her neck.

He keeps that up until his daughter is breathless, much like Emma and Henry are, both from laughing so hard.

«Come on, wounded soul,» Emma says, wrapping her fingers around his hand, «we'll be late.» She kisses Alice and Henry on their foreheads, stepping back and then hugging them once more. Killian does the same, so it's up to the siblings to push their parents out of the door. Literally.

Henry turns to look at his sister, a wide grin spreading on his lips. «And now, pizza.»

It's quite simple, they just have to turn on the oven, the pizza prepared from scratch by his father, with mushrooms for Alice – what 5-year-old loves mushrooms so much she must have them on everything? – while Henry only needs loads of cheese – and Alice too, to be honest – and lots of pepperoni.

They – yes, they, because they'll probably stay with their nose inches away from the oven's glass – will just need not to burn down the place. And the pizzas. The place would probably be worse, but the saying doesn't go "don't cry over burnt pizza", does it?

«Which movie are we watching tonight?» Henry asks, setting Alice on the counter, an arm still keeping her safe on the marble top as he turns the oven on. «We have to stick to cartoons this time, kid, I don't want you to have nightmares again.»

The pout she aims at him is a Jones trait through and through; he just has to stifle a laugh.

«Can we watch _The Black Cauldron_? Please?» The pout is still a pout, but a different one. Oh, yes, she's their parents' daughter.

Henry throws his head back, exhaling loudly and Alice knows she's won. «They didn't vetoed it,» Henry reasoned, grinning at his sister. To be fair, he found that movie one of the most underrated Disney movies ever. Perhaps, they could watch _Atlantis_ next.

 _So much for trying to keep nightmares away_.

They eat on the couch, Alice's skinny legs thrown over his, bright yellow socks to match Henry's. It's not the first time they do that – not with Emma Swan as their mother, even though Killian too knows how to host a good pizza and movie night in the pillow forts he builds. Even if he's sixteen, Henry wouldn't turn an invitation in the pillow fort down.

He knows Alice is about to doze off almost at the end of the movie, just as he knows she would never forgive him if he lets her fall asleep.

Offering her chocolate cookies is a rookie mistake.

Agreeing to see _Atlantis_ is not worse, but it's a close second.

Now it's almost half past ten: putting her to bed will be quite the feat. So Henry doesn't even try to do that, pulling out their favourite board game: Disney Monopoly.

Rationally, he knows his parents won't punish him, Alice has gone to sleep later than midnight on several occasions, but they gave him a deadline to appoint some responsibility on him. Part of him knows they won't be happy but, egoistically enough, Henry wouldn't put his little sister to bed earlier: he'd play Monopoly with her all night long if he could.

Emma and Killian find them sprawled on the floor, Henry snoring with one of Alice's feet under his nose, toes tapping unrhythmically against his cheek.

«You owe me twenty bucks,» Emma whispers fondly, thumb tracing the wedding ring on her husband finger as she looks down at her children, a pang of sadness and longing creeping inside her.

Killian nods silently, a warm feeling enveloping his heart. He turns to her, a gleam in his eyes that tells her he's feeling the same as her. They're not _that_ old, and they did have Henry quite young, but they still have time, and they have a spare room. They're not ready to give up pillow forts during pizza and movie night.

They may sound selfish, never wanting their kids to grow up and wanting another because they love them so much, but they don't care. They are parents, they are allowed to feel like that.

Emma gently scoops her little Starfish in her arms, the movement not even making her mumble in her sleep as Killian tries to do the same with Henry. He doesn't quite fail, but he has to wake him up a little so to not drag him entirely up to his room: Killian may be slowly turning into a – quite sexy, as Emma always loves to add – silver fox and he still is strong enough to eventually carry Emma over his shoulder to their bed, but Henry is a growing lad.

They put their kids to bed, taking their time to brush their hair away from their foreheads and press a kiss there.

It's almost ten minutes later that Emma and Killian find themselves looking at each other from the doorways of their kids' bedrooms.

Much like all those years ago, the two of them can still communicate with just a look.

«Who do you think won?» Emma asks in a whisper, padding into his arms as they make their way to their bedroom, Alice in Wonderland's statuette shining in the faint moonlight as she holds it between her fingers after she's pried it from her daughter's fingers.

Killian snorts, nuzzling her nose with his. «Haven't you noticed the two hundred dollars bill stuck against Henry's cheek, the one with a very bright yellow sock pressed against it?»

Emma snorts, wrapping her arms around his torso. «We'll have to be careful not to place actual bets with her.»

He cocks his eyebrow. «Bold of you to assume she won't trick us into gambling with her.»

«We are as bad as Henry was tonight, aren't we?»

«That we are, my love,» Killian confirms, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. «That we are.»

Neither of them, however, would ever change a thing.

That is, aside from the spare room at the end of the hallway.


	14. (I am a) sucker (for your) punch(es)

**A Captain Swan 98 would be fantastic! – "You pissed me off and I resorted to violence, and YoU'RE REALLY NICE I DIDNT MEAN IT"**

 **(I am a) sucker (for your) punch(es)**

The buzzing in her ears doesn't seem to want to stop, much like the pounding headache she's had for two days already.

A trip to the doctor is probably due.

A trip to the doctor was due two days ago when she hit her head chasing down that perp. Thing is, she _doesn't_ have a concussion, she's just stressed. And has a killer headache, hence the trip to the nearest pharmacy.

 _Well_ , the pharmacy nearest to her office, to which she gets with the subway. Being in the subway means being surrounded by people, and while being surrounded by people isn't something Emma hates per se, being surrounded by people when your head feels like it's being hit by one of Snow White's dwarves' pickaxe is not something she enjoys.

Emma Swan doesn't hate kids, and she can't really blame neither child or mother when the former keeps crying because he's teething and the latter is doing her best to shush him, but if she could jump off the train right now, she would. Perhaps that would stop the pounding. Admittedly, jumping off the train would put an end to many things.

Why can't she just listen to music, you ask? Fate wants her to have forgotten her headphones in the other red leather jacket.

It's probably time for her to look for a bag – an actual bag, not clutches for honey traps. She'll just tell Ruby she wants to go shopping: it'll last her for another decade.

It's also too hot in the subway, but at least she's sitting down and there aren't bodies pressing into one another like sardines. She shudders at the thought.

As much as being inside her head hurts, blocking everything around her out is the best solution she can find. She just has to endure ten minutes in the train with all these people, fifteen tops. It took all her force of will not to count the minutes, knowing her headache would only worsen.

It's with a sensation of nausea at the sudden freedom she can taste in her mouth that Emma jumps up from the seat, grabbing the paper bag next to her and rushes towards the automatic doors, sprinting towards the exit so fast she'd make Usain Bolt eat her dust.

People seemed to move away from her path, of which Emma is extremely glad even if the only "thank you" would be a grunt of appreciation. Priorities.

She's so focused on getting the hell out of that place and barricade herself home that she doesn't hear the "hey, lass!" shouted at her in a British accent that in another occasion would ignite other parts of her body and not fuel the fire inside her head.

The speed with which she climbs the stairs up to the street, the way her body bounced with every step made her feel nauseous. Emma holds her breath, swallowing down that sensation, or at least trying to.

The Englishman trying to reach his "lass" isn't giving up, and Emma almost expects said lass to surpass her at the speed of light, but the voice keeps coming closer and closer and the girl this man is chasing seems not to be near Emma at all.

She's on the last step when someone's hand wraps around her arm, forcing her one step back. But Emma Swan isn't one to be manhandled, not so roughly and not when a headache is about to kill her. Therefore, she reacts the way she always has: punch first, ask questions later.

It happens fast, the way Emma swings around, the paper bag dropping onto the step as she raises her arm and hits the dark-haired man square on the cheekbone, sending him flying down the stairs amidst chorus of startled gasps.

Shocked herself, Emma watched him tumble down the stairs and ending up sprawled on the first landing, blood running down his nose and _fuck_ , what has she done?

Ignoring the pain, she reaches the man – the very handsome man – who's now trying to sit up, hand flying to his nose. «Bloody hell,» she hears him mutter in a British accent and it should tell her something, the fact that he has an accent, but her brain is currently processing that she's sent a man flying down a flight of stairs.

Usually, she wouldn't think about it twice, because any man who manhandled a woman – or a woman doing that to a man or to another woman and a man doing that to another man – deserved to be punched in the face, but this time her gut is telling her she's done something wrong.

She pulls to a stop next to him, crouching down to inspect the damage. It's impossible for her, however, not to notice how handsome the man is, with scruffy cheeks and – rightfully pissed – big blue eyes. His nose isn't crooked, even though it's bleeding, and Emma really hopes she hasn't broken it.

«I am so, _so_ sorry,» Emma stammers, hands moving frantically, wanting to help him up but not knowing how to without being pushed away.

«Bloody hell, lass,» he spits out, pressing his hand to his nose, trying to stop the blood flow in vain. «What were you thinking?»

Emma is about to reply when he stands up, and she shoots upright, too. Bad decision. Very bad decision.

Suddenly, there's not only one man, but two, and she isn't able to feel her legs anymore. The man in front of her sways, gaze concerned before Emma feels herself fall forward and darkness envelopes her in its strong arms.

Emma didn't know the darkness carried the scent of the sea.

* * *

The room it's too bright to be her own, and she may not be entirely sure about it, but the window isn't in the right place. And her house doesn't smell like that, of antiseptic and flowers. Mary Margaret is the one with an obsession over flowers. Emma does like them, but she could never take care of them.

Her eyes flutter open. She has to squint to adjust to the light, and as soon as she does, all her other senses come back in a rush, washing over her body and pushing her back like a wave during the storm.

With her hand, she reaches for her head, wincing in pain at the movement.

«Easy, lass.»

The soothing, warm voice almost melts her insides. That's probably not healthy.

Slowly, her eyes find the man, cladded in a white coat, arms crossed over his chest and a thick black eyebrow cocked high on his forehead. The big, deep purple bruise on the left side of his face is hard to miss. Shame blooms inside her.

«I'm afraid you have a concussion,» the man says slowly, hand fishing out a torch from his breast pocket. «I'll have to ask you some questions.»

Emma is confused, both because she's laying on a hospital bed and, well, isn't he supposed to press charges against her or something? _Has he? Will he? Holy shit, his eyes are so blue and his whole face is quite handsome, too_.

Yup. Totally concussed.

The man – Killian Jones, she reads from his name tag – proceeds to ask her questions she replies with a tinge of annoyance in her voice. Emma barely notices the headache is gone and that she's simply thirsty up until she coughs over her words and her head doesn't seem to want to explode anymore.

It's when he seems to be done with the questioning and he's told her the hospital called Mary Margaret that an awkward silence falls between them, which means that's the moment Emma chooses to speak.

«I want to apologize for the punch,» she rushes out of her mouth in one breath, looking down at her hands, wrapped around a glass of cold water; her knuckles are slightly bruised and she covers them with her other hand.

Killian smiles tightly at her. «I can't say I deserved it, but it was bad form to grab you that way.»

«You totally didn't deserve that punch _and_ it wasn't nice to be manhandled like that,» Emma agrees, smiling shyly up at him. On the inside, she is shocked by her reaction. Shy. Emma Swan is suddenly shy in front of a man. A man whom she punched, but still. Before she can overthink it, she asks: «Why did you want to stop me?»

There's a faint blush on his cheeks – or rather _cheek_ , since the other one looks like someone (Emma) smacked a handful of blackberries over his face. Or simply punched him. She internally cringes. «We were sitting next to each other on the subway, and when you left you picked up my bag instead of your own.»

 _Oh_.

Did she, now?

Seeing confusion mar her face, Killian continues. «I tried to call after you, but since I didn't know your name yet and you were running as if Cerberus was chasing you, I had to restore to grabbing you. I apologize for that.»

«Bad form,» Emma echoes his earlier words in a whisper, blushing the moment the last letter leaves her lips. Then she frowns. «Are you really a doctor?»

She'll blame the concussion for all the stupid things she's going to say from now on.

Killian's laugh manages to warm up on the inside and the probability she might be dying of self-combustion forms in the back of her mind. «Aye, I am. Killian Jones, heart surgeon, at your service.» He even adds a mocking bow for good measure.

«You don't seem ill.» Seeing his frown – a very cute frown – Emma adds: «The paper bag. I assume there were medications in it?»

«Oh, aye,» Killian nods, «I was heading at my brother's with supplies for my nephew. The lad came down with the flu and Liam didn't want to leave him alone with Elsa in Norway.» The moment he realizes he said too much, Killian blushes even more, and if Emma found him cute before, nothing compares to the sight of the tips of his ears tinging a cherry red.

Her eyes widen in shock. «Oh god, why are you still here, then? You should have gone to him, not stayed here with me.» She's about to throw the blanket away when she realizes for the first time – concussed, remember? – that she's been put into a hospital gown. «What the fuck?»

«That may be my fault, lass,» Killian cuts in, the blush spreading down his neck as he realizes how his words may have been interpreted. «I didn't mention you slept through the night.» The way her eyes widen even more is almost comical. «Don't worry, Emma, it's very much normal for someone in your condition.» He checks his watch, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. That's not cute at all, that's downright sinful. «I'm afraid I have to go. I'll come check on you later.»

«Wait!» Emma exclaims as he's about to turn around and leave. «You said you are a surgeon, then why keep an eye on me?» _I'm not that special_ , she can't help but think, and her heart tightens in her chest.

He smirks at her. «I couldn't just let the girl who made me literally _fall_ for her be taken care of by someone who wasn't me, could I?»

Emma can't help it: she laughs. A full belly laugh that has tears leak out of the corners of her eyes and leaves breathless. «That was bad, Jones,» she chuckles, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. «Again, I'm so sorry about it.» She chews on her lip. «Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?»

Surprised by her question, Killian tilts his head and shuffles on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. «If I were to ask you on a date, would you consider it?»

Speechless, Emma can only blink at him for a few seconds before blurting out: «Wouldn't it be against the rules? With you being my doctor and all that?» Of course she's not worried about the fact that he called it a date, especially not when Emma Swan doesn't do dates because she doesn't do romance. Honestly, she wants to blame the concussion, it'd be all so simple. Alas, it's not, and she can't really bring herself to turn him down, not when she wants to actually go on a date with him and there's no fear building up inside her. Hell, it wouldn't even be done out of obligation.

So, she waits for his answer, hoping it will be simple.

«It's not exactly forbidden, given you only have a concussion and I am not your surgeon…»

«Good,» she cuts him off, relaxing against the cushions. They are very soft. «Then it's a date.»

In that moment, Emma is glad she's laying down, because the boyish smile he gives her would be enough to send _her_ flying down the stairs.

Suffice to say, she tortures both him and herself before kissing him for the first time, only because she wants for his bruise to be completely healed.

It's probably not a coincidence that it turns out to be so on their third date.


	15. We were the victims of ourselves

**hello - first time requesting a fic, but i saw number 56 on the au prompt list #1 you re-blogged & i haven't really come across any cs fics around this before & think it could be something wonderful & angsty. thanks! —sals86**

 **→ From the prompt: "I was trying to confess my love but then you went and slept with my enemy!".**

 **This is my kind of "canon" complaint - it's not canon at all lol - because I remember the comments about the carriage scene in the flashbacks from 511 and since I still am heavily, uhm, let's say disgusted, by them, I just wanted to do my own kind of fix it :'D**

 **Thank you so much!**

 **15\. We were the victims of ourselves**

The way flames spread around her should tell her something is wrong.

Something is really, _really_ wrong.

Namely, the fact that the world hates her. Well, of course it does, otherwise she wouldn't be trying to take her kingdom back from an evil witch's hands.

 _An evil bitch, rather_ , she sneers, flames blazing high.

Sat in the middle of a circle of many little fires, Emma's shoulders sag. It shouldn't bother her, she knows she's not the first woman he's ever flirted or laid with – ha! As if he ever slept with her at all!

 _But he slept with_ her, Emma's traitor mind supplies.

A sob tears through her throat. Soon, tears are set free to run down her face and wet her breeches as she sits crosslegged on the sand in the middle of the night.

Emma cries for endless minutes, and as soon as the tears start to dry on her cheeks, the flames around her die, too, leaving a circle of black spots of burnt sand.

Emptiness is such a weird feeling: she feels lost, aye, but she also _feels_ something still, so it's not right to speak of actual emptiness. And yet…

«Swan!»

Her eyelids flutter close, heart pounding painfully in her chest.

Anger may have left her, but betrayal, oh, betrayal is another wound entirely, so fresh it's bleeding still.

«What do you want?»

Even on the soft sand Emma can hear him falter on his steps. Good: she wants to hurt him like he hurt her.

Gods, she shouldn't have any claim on him or his feelings. She is pathetic. A wince shakes her body: Regina used that word to describe her. Emma feels like throwing up.

«Bloody hell, woman,» Killian hisses, stepping around the circle she formed around her. When his boots come into view, Emma can't help but lifting her gaze slowly, hating the way his leather pants wrap around his legs so sensually and how they do nothing to conceal the visible bulge. She also hates that patch of chest hair peeking out from beneath his shirt and vest. Most of all, she is a liar. «What the fuck are you doing? There's a storm coming, a violent one. This is no place to stay.»

Against his better judgement, or mostly because he doesn't want her to get hurt, Killian bends forward, curling his fingers around her bicep and drags her to her feet.

Clicking her tongue, Emma pulls back, stepping – nay, _stomping_ – away from him. The look of bewilderment shifting his features would make her laugh weren't she so furious.

«I'd rather be hit by a fucking lightning than be near you, right now!.»

Her voice breaks on the last syllable, the unmistakable lump chocking the words in her throat as tears pool in her eyes. She doesn't want to cry, she really doesn't, but now the dam is broken and there's little for her to control: tears are already forming tiny cups of wet sand around her feet and her body is trembling uncontrollably. And then-

«I was trying to confess my love but then I discovered you slept with my enemy!»

Killian's face is suddenly blurry; no matter how many times Emma wipes her cheeks with her hand, the tears don't stop. In one little part of her mind, she catalogues his expression: he's stunned, though she can't decide _why_. Is it because she discovered he slept with Regina? Is it because of the lov- _No_ , it certainly is not because of that.

Through her tears, shock turns into confusion, which then turns into anger.

«You really think I could ever betray you like that?» he spits, and for a moment Emma believes he may be more dangerous than the thunderstorm rolling in. _He already is_ , she thinks, _he already hurt me like no one ever did before_.

Emma licks her lips, trying to gain control over her wavering voice. «Regina,» she spits her name, nose scrunching in disgust, «you slept with her. In the fucking carriage.»

It's stupid, because that happened before they ever met, and yet _it isn't_ , because that feels like a betrayal anyway.

Forcing herself to look away from him so she won't see regret in his eyes, Emma sets her sight on the darkening sky and then below, on the furious sea, waves rising high and crashing on the shore several feet from them. They should move, seek refuge, but neither of them moves.

«You really think I could ever betray you like that?» Killian repeats, and those words now don't make any sense at all. Though she _feels_ betrayed, his isn't a betrayal at all. Emma knows what Regina ordered him to do and how Killian didn't, leaving his father and brother go.

It was just after that that they met, a quite unpleasant yet funny story that involved being tied to a tree and a swordfight Emma couldn't possibly win. After he heard the tale of the princess whose kingdom was lost to a horrible ruler, Killian offered Emma his services in exchange for a weapon to defeat the Dark One.

Three years have passed from that day, and Killian's mind is now solely focus on the woman in front of him. Too bad she doesn't realize that.

«I never touched that woman,» Killian goes on, taking a small step towards her. «Whatever that bloody witch told you is not true, Emma.»

Her heart jumps in her throat at the sound of her name falling from his lips. «B-but she said-»

«Did you truly believe her?» He sounds sad, not mocking at all: he's disappointed in her lack of faith in him, and Emma feels more tears threatening to spill down her face. «I know about her reputation, I knew before I even met her, and I admit, at the time I used women to forget how broken inside I felt, but never with her, Emma. _Never_.»

He doesn't mention her ability to detect a lie because he just _knows_ , he knows she doesn't trust herself to listen to it when emotions are running high, no matter what her gut tells her. She's stupid, she really is, because after all this time, she should trust Killian and bloody hell she _does_. It's just-

«I'm sorry,» she sobs, angry at herself for listening to her sworn enemy, to the person who crushed her parents' hearts in front of her, to the person who made her life miserable. To the person she knew she could never trust.

Killian rushes to her, his hand coming to rest on one side of her head as the tip of his hook gently presses against her waist. He looks her in the eyes before exhaling and dropping his head so his forehead can press over hers. «I forgive you.»

Emma is not disappointed that he did say everything was fine, because she doubted him, and if Killian had ever demonstrated a thing that he was not, that thing was untrustworthy. He always stood by her side, _always_ , even through all the sneering comments and nasty looks aimed at him only because he was a pirate with a hook for a hand.

«How could I not, when I love you, too?»

For a moment, Emma thinks she's misheard him, or that she didn't at all given the way the thunder echoed through the sky. For a moment, Emma wonders why he said those words when she remembers _her_ _own_ words.

Eyes wide in shock, Emma stumbles back, only half a step because Killian doesn't seem to want to let her go. She doesn't want him to, either.

«You do?»

Disbelief colours her voice, she can't help it, even when, thinking about it, it's always been so obvious. Many comments were made about the two of them, both spiteful and allusive, but she always brushed them off for various reasons: the timing, her quest, her need to take Regina down, but most of all, the fear that he wouldn't feel the same. Such a fool she's been, for he always flirted with her. Not only that, of course, he always showed deep affection for her, and he was always there for her to lash out verbally or cry herself to sleep. Although they came from different times and had different backgrounds, Emma and Killian understood each other.

Oh, no, it shouldn't surprise her.

It still does.

And the smile blooming on her face could probably outshine the sun. Or become a new star entirely. Killian definitely thinks so.

Uncaring of the rain starting to fall, Emma rises on her tiptoes, arms circling Killian's neck as she presses her lips against his.

Everything fades, the cold tapping of the raindrops over her head and down her cheeks, penetrating through her clothes, everything but the way Killian's mouth feels against her, how his strong arms pull her close and her breasts press against his solid chest, his body warmth seeps through her own, igniting flames inside her more powerful than the ones she conjured mere minutes ago.

Emma has kissed men before, some more forcefully than others, desiring to feel the kiss consume her like Killian's is doing right now. Never once she felt like this, so alive and powerful.

His tongue sweeps over her lower lip, teeth nibbling at the soft flesh. A moan escapes Emma, moan Killian promptly swallows with another kiss, the hand on her cheek slipped around her and up, to bury itself in her hair.

When they break away to breathe, Killian's nose nuzzles against her cheek, so wet and cold it burns her skin.

She doesn't need to move a muscle to poof them in his cabin on the Jolly Roger where she starts to undo the buttons of his brocade vest with almost numb fingers.

Killian doesn't stop her, doesn't ask her if she's sure: he's a smart man, he knows she wouldn't do something she doesn't want to do. Besides, he's a very selfish man, but the princess, _his_ princess, seems to love him despite it – or because of that, or both, he doesn't really care much about it now.

Their movements are uncoordinated at best, the agitated rocking of the ship making them stumble until Killian is backed up against his bunk. He falls on the mattress, making her straddle him so he can keep kissing, touching, divesting her.

They bare one another: they bared their feelings first, and now they bare the physical scars, some of which they've received fighting side by side, the ones they first saw on the other's bodies whilst tending to them. Now those same scars are traced with fingers, lips, tongues, even, and the pain can't reach them anymore.

He tries to be gentle, but the way Emma hurries him on makes Killian lose what little control he has on himself.

Emma feels nothing but pleasure; it runs through her veins, penetrate into her bones and spreads inside her heart and mind. All she sees, all she feels is Killian, the way his skin feels against hers, every hard ridge of is marred flesh rubbing over her own scars and the soft skin no man ever saw before, the coarse hair covering his body as he covers hers, his warm tongue tracing imaginary paths all over her skin, making her see stars only with it, something she only heard women talk of.

Her cries of pleasure echo against the cabin's walls, her screams either swallowed by the thunders roaring above or reaching the crew's ears. Either way, she doesn't care, not when Killian is filling her to the point of pain, that pleasurable pain that only excites her even more if the way she rakes her nails harshly down his back means something. How can she think of something other than Killian when he's pulsating deep inside her, his lips kissing her swollen ones, teeth clashing and tongues battling in a dance as old as time?

There's very little she can think of when they're laying in a tangled mess of sweaty limbs, but now she can finally see it: Killian, his love for her and her love for him may be her greatest weakness, the one weapon that could make her crumble and destroy her forever, but, more than that, it's her strength.

And no one can take that strength away from her save for the man who holds her heart.

The way Killian is looking at her right now tells Emma she holds his.

For the first time in a very long time, princess Emma of Misthaven is not scared anymore, and just like the day after a storm does, the future looks brighter, too.


	16. sweet dreams are made of this

**heya! could you do a Modern AU/canon divergence one shot/two shot of Killian taking care of five year old Alice while Emma is away on a business trip? And they FaceTime her every night before Alice goes to bed so she can say night night to her mother?**

 **16 - sweet dreams are made of this**

«Alright, Starfish, are you ready for bed?» Killian asks his daughter as she steps out of the bathroom down the hall clad in her light blue pyjamas with white rabbits all over it. She nods, curls bouncing. He arches a brow. «Teeth?»

All Alice does is smiling at him, her teeth as white as snow. She's not one to scrunch her nose at hygiene, but she's also five, which means she totally could. He's so bloody grateful she's not adverse to water. Her room, however…

«Crap!» he hears her exclaim as she breezes past him, running into said room and coming out less than thirty second after with a stash of papers clutched to her chest. _Ah, right_.

A soft chuckle leaves his lips as Alice comes to stand in front of him, blue eyes that match his own looking up. «I'm ready, now.»

They way she stands, back straight and chest puffed out, makes her look like a soldier. «At ease, sailor,» Killian tells her, ruffling her hair before he scoops her up in his arms and brings her in his and Emma's bedroom, place Alice has slept in for the past week while her mother is in New York for a congress. Boston nights aren't as loud as New York's, that Killian knows for sure, but they are for sure lonelier. Thankfully, he has his daughter there with him, though it's nothing compared to have Emma with them, too.

As soon as he drops her on the bed where she bounces laughing over the mattress, Alice scrambles onto her knees and heads for the hem of the duvet, pulling it down and slipping under it, right at the center of the bed. Unsatisfied with her accommodation, she pulls her mother's pillow behind her and rests her back against it. Beneath the blankets, she wiggles her feet, eyebrows quirking when Killian still doesn't join her.

Rolling his eyes, Killian does just that, taking the tablet from his nightstand and settles next to his daughter, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her closer. Just like her mother does, Alice curls up against his chest, cheek resting over his heart. Suddenly overwhelmed, Killian drops a kiss on the crown of her head, inhaling her scent, a mix of the orange shampoo she can't go without and that unique scent that's just _Alice_.

Hurriedly, Alice takes the tablet from his hand and goes straight for the FaceTime app: Killian is not the only one missing Emma. Not that he'd ever think that, it'd be an abomination.

It doesn't take long for Emma's face to fill the screen and Killian's heart soars in his chest.

«Mama!»

Alice's squeal of delight makes them chuckle, and Killian drops another kiss on her head. It doesn't escape him that Emma's smile is a tired one, her eyes rimmed red as she rubs one with her hand.

«Hey, Starfish,» she greets her daughter, using the nickname Killian gave Alice. «How are you?»

«Good, Mama.» It's almost an exasperate sigh, but there's a smile on her thin lips that never fades. «I made pretty drawings today!»

It's quite the sight, seeing his daughter ramble over her day at school like she would every other day when either one or both of them go pick her up. Killian has always been fascinated by Alice's mind, by her imagination and the way she transfers the visions she has on paper with her drawings, creating her own Wonderland.

She's bloody brilliant, just like her mother.

Emma listens to her with rapt attention, leaning towards the camera so she can see the details better, her forehead crinkling adorably as she squints.

At one point during their long conversation, Emma's laugh startles Killian. He's been looking his two blondes back and forth as they talked and he's just slightly ashamed that he missed the conversation because just _looking_ at them fills his heart with joy.

«Welcome back, dear,» Emma teases him, tired eyes twinkling in amusement.

There's no denying it: Killian's skin burns hot under his girls' eyes.

He slips further beneath the blankets and tickles Alice's side, making her squeal – rather loudly, his ear wants to complain – in delight. «Papa, stop!» she protests, one of her hands flailing around trying to get him to stop as she carefully holds the tablet with her free hand.

Killian pouts. Emma _may_ be emitting a long "aww" sound – she totally is – and Alice just laughs even more, her toothy grin filling Killian's heart with pure love. He really can't stand mad at her for long, not even playfully.

How can he, when Alice then leans forward and smacks a wet kiss on his cheek?

It's almost half an hour later, when Alice's head rests heavy over his chest and her eyes start to droop, that Killian sighs and traces Emma's face on the touchscreen, wishing for the sixth night in a row that Emma would be home with them.

«At what hour are you leaving tomorrow?»

Emma grumbles something, rubbing at her eye. «Uhm, I need to have _brunch_ with the boss and investors. Which means,» she bits out, almost hisses, «that there'll be little eating, lots of talking and a huge headache wrecking my brain.»

As he's absentmindedly running his fingers through Alice's golden locks, Killian smirks, eyebrows quirking. «Then I'll make sure to have a hot bath running for you for when you come home. After, of course, this wee lass has had her fill of you.»

Emma snorts. «Of course.» She stifles a yawn. «Throw in a back massage and we're good.»

«Cuddles after?» The pout on his lips is adorable.

Emma arches one of her finely shaped eyebrows. «Cuddles?»

«Little ears in my room, love. All I can offer is _cuddles_.»

In New York, Emma taps her index finger against her chin, pretending to consider his offer. «I'll take the cuddles.» She then nods towards Alice, a look of pure affection in her eyes. «She's going to be mad at herself she couldn't say goodnight.»

Killian nuzzles Alice's hair with a goofy smile on his face. «She'll get double pancakes and orange marmalade to heal her wounded soul.»

They say their goodbyes barely ten minutes later, Emma's eyelids threatening to shut close at any second.

So it's a surprise when he hears a muffled curse just before seven the next morning. Trained as a Navy man and then as a detective, Killian's body tenses, one arm protectively curling around the child sprawled over his chest and the other one reaching out towards his bedside table, ready to pull out the gun in the drawer.

The next curse is not as muffled and Killian feels himself exhale in relief as the grip on drawer's handle loosens, his head falling back on the pillow with a soft thump. He closes his eyes for barely two seconds before he realizes that voice may be familiar but shouldn't be in the kitchen yet.

Gently, he manoeuvres Alice so she's spread in the center of the mattress, mouth open as a light snore flies past her lips.

He finds his wife trying to silently pull out pans and bowls to prepare what he knows will be a breakfast for an army, sneakers by the door with her luggage and bag, her leather jacket hanging next to his and Alice's. The sight sends a feeling of calmness through his heart. Emma is back, she's _home_. His heart finally feels whole.

She doesn't seem to have heard him, so he slowly moves to stand on his side of the kitchen island, elbows propped on the dark marble. After one week spent without seeing her, Killian can't help but sweep his eyes over her body, admiring how she fills those Pikachu yellow sweatpants, _his_ socks and t-shirt completing her sinful attire. He wouldn't be joking whenever he says his wife would be hot even wrapped in a burlap sack.

«You are fortunate I'm a light sleeper and recognized your voice,» he whispers loud enough for her to hear but, hopefully, not to startle her.

Which she is, but at least not enough to drop the pan she's holding. She just leaves it clatter lightly on the stove before running around the island and launching herself into his waiting arms.

Her scent may not be the best, Emma totally needs a shower and to be pampered after the hell of a week she's had, but for now he's very much content to just hold her after so long.

Emma's hands slip beneath his t-shirt, unusually warm against his skin, fingers digging into his flesh. It's almost animalistic, their hug, the need they have to crawl under each other's skin as they merely hold one another increasing by the moment. Killian is caressing her hips from under the Pink Floyd t-shirt she's wearing, their fronts pressed tightly together.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, just like the week that has kept them apart, they pull away, only to come together in a desperate kiss.

It wouldn't take Killian much to sit Emma onto the island and make her his, the thought incredibly appealing as she moans into his mouth, teeth pulling at his lower lip. Neither of them cares about morning breath, they haven't in years and they won't certainly go back on their habits now. Besides, Killian knows she's been devouring sweets all night long during her ride, the sugar rush helping her getting home safely.

If she thinks the kiss she's giving him will make him forget that she's lied to him and hit the road so far into the night to make it home earlier than intended and surprise them, well, she might be on the right path.

Emma peppers his face with more kisses before pressing a longer one onto his lips, one hand buried in his hair and the other now fisting the front of his t-shirt to keep herself balanced on her tiptoes. She's not, by the way, because she's completely leaning onto him.

It's useless: he chases her for another kiss, nose nuzzling hers every time they pull away to breathe.

«'S so good to be home,» she mumbles almost sleepily even though her body is clearly buzzing because of all the caffeine and sugar it's flowing through her veins right now.

«Couldn't agree more,» Killian sighs, kissing her forehead and holding her closer, lifting completely off her feet.

«Do you think I could make breakfast with you holding me up like this?» Killian laughs softly into her ear. It's like music, a wonderful lullaby she could fall asleep over.

«We could try.»

She snorts. Of course he would try anything. «As fun as it sounds, I really just want to cook my family breakfast.»

As soon as she starts to wriggle a bit, Killian sets her down without letting her move an inch from his body. He doesn't want her to, not even to make him breakfast. It's Sunday, they should be in bed, still asleep and not caring about breakfast at least until ten.

Not that Alice would care: that girl is growing up, after all, and she'd eat whatever her mom cooks without a second thought, even if it were the middle of the night. Which still happens, sometimes. Although he tries – he really _does_ – to be mad at them, Killian can't resist their puppy eyes.

It's one hundred percent the smell of hot chocolate and pancakes that rises Alice from her slumber since she appears in the kitchen about forty-five minutes later, hair a tangled mess – much like her mother's whenever she wakes up – and rubbing the sleep off her eyes. She must be still half-asleep because she's yet to see her mother standing with one hip against the countertop licking Nutella off the spatula she's used to finish off her own pile of pancakes.

The moment she does, her gasp is loud, but her cry of "Mama!" is louder, piercing Killian's eardrums but making him smile widely.

Alice throws herself into her mother's waiting arms and Emma picks her up with a muffled groan. Alice's growing up too fast for both their liking.

Even so, the sight of mother and daughter hugging one another never fails to melt his heart and fill him with a warmth he started to feel only when Emma came into his life after years of unbearable cold.

Killian lets them catch up, Emma cuddling their daughter tighter with every passing minute; even if Alice were out of breath, the little girl wouldn't complain at all. Every now and then he casts quick glances at them as he settles down two mugs of hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon for his two loves and one of coffee for himself, relishing in the routine he knows won't be broken for a long while.

He doesn't suspect a thing until he notices Emma trying to conceal a smirk as she whispers in Alice's ear, tickling her side lightly so she will loosen the grip her legs have around Emma's waist. A frowns forms between his eyebrows as he follows where his daughter is going with his eyes, sipping on his warm coffee.

Alice's high-pitched squeal of "bunny!" makes Killian splutter as he almost chokes on his coffee. He doesn't even care about the mess he's created, all he does is glower at Emma in disapproval, her innocent smile doing nothing to help her cause – or so he tells himself. Lies, those are all lies.

She's a sneaky one, his wife: first she comes back way earlier than planned, then she hides – quite brilliantly, he has to admit – the cage with the white bunny his daughter has no intention of letting go behind her own suitcase.

«Bad form,» Killian whispers in Emma's ear as he passes behind her to make more coffee. «We agreed to wait until Christmas.»

The whine Emma emits as she turns to pout at him should be considered illegal. Many things about his wife should, and he'd be the very much willing detective to lock her up and- «But Christmas is-»

«In little over than two months?»

Emma sticks her tongue out at him, screaming in surprise and almost _jumping_ to the other side of the kitchen island as his hand shots up and pinches the tip of her tongue between thumb and forefinger. He grins like the bastard he knows he can still be at times.

In all fairness, Killian can't really blame his wife: Alice may not have been _vocal_ about wanting a bunny, but she's been quite… demonstrating, let's say. Not to obsessing levels, absolutely, just enough to have her parents debate over having a little white bunny in the house. It wasn't the worst choice, and it wasn't the worst animal she could ask for, and so they settled on finding one for her for Christmas.

«We'll just have to figure out something good for Christmas,» Emma shrugs, the way she's biting the inside of her lower lip something that doesn't sit quite right with Killian.

But of course, it's not until Christmas morning that she tells him with a bow around Mr. Bunny's fluffy neck and the words "World's best Papa (of two)" after she's placed said bunny on his chest to wake him up.

Killian's bloody excited and poor Mr. Bunny may have been scared for life. Alice will take good care of him, though. She's responsible enough not to paint the walls of the house without explicit permission from her parents with her brand new colouring kit, after all, isn't she?


	17. laying down my armor (so you know where

**captainjaspenor said: "Do you do fanfic requests? Because I really was hoping someone could write me one about Killian running out of the eyeliner he brought over from The Enchanted Forest and him having to ask Emma where to get eyeliner and she has to show him or something?"**

 **Anonymous said: "Could you please do a fic about Hook running out of the eyeliner he brought over with him from the Enchanted Forest and having to ask Emma where to get more?"**

 **A/N: Congratulations, dearie, you made me write canon! It's not usual, and I kinda wanted to set this before the year apart, but then I thought I could just canon divergence from a good point, since I could send everyone I didn't like away. And change names. And just have nothing after it happen. So I did it. This is set after 4A - not in between half-seasons, given I don't think they'll see Gold or Regina around ever again *coff coff***

 **And I changed the prompt a bit, since he doesn't actually ask Emma where to find more…**

 **Many thanks to carpedzem for sending me good vibes through this ;)**

 **17 - laying down my armor (so you know where I am)**

Not seeing her pirate around lately was just strange.

After the town had been relieved of Rumplestiltskin's presence and Regina had blissfully left the town, too, on a spiritual journey or whatever she was up to lately, finally leaving Emma alone, she and Killian had felt the pressure on their shoulders attenuate.

Sure, they didn't spend all their time together, but they would usually meet up for coffee in the morning - okay, they would just go to _Granny's_ together after a night in his room - or at least go on an evening stroll - which would usually lead them to the docks and then back to the diner.

For two days, however, Killian Jones seemed to have disappeared.

Though he still answered his phone, he always dismissed his absence, and politely asked Emma to leave if she knocked at his door.

Knowing all too well to give him space, especially after he'd given it to her albeit still pursuing her, a perfect balance that had always made her feel safe even when she didn't want to recognize that feeling. She was glad she'd listened to her heart.

Killian didn't just leave her alone: he called out on her bullshit even when she didn't want to. A bit contradictory, yes, but he knew her better than anyone, even better than herself. But Emma, too, could read him, and there was something in his evasiveness that didn't sit well with her.

Which was why she was now standing in front of his door, tray in one hand, her past as a waitress allowing her to keep it perfectly balanced even with the heavy teapot and cups on it. Tea might not have been her drink of choice, but Granny had practically thrust it into her hands and told her to bring it to her boyfriend. Emma had also blushed violently at the mention of her relationship status: for the first time ever, she felt like a normal person with a normal life even if it wasn't normal at all.

After knocking on the door lightly, she paid attention to every noise, from the slight creak of the floorboards to the metal groan of the bed. Hmm, she hadn't noticed that during the night she spent there.

«Hey, Killian,» she began carefully, knowing she had to choose her words wisely, «Granny _politely_ asked me to bring you some tea. She's worried, you know? We all are worried, even my dad. He misses his _mate_.» Inwardly, she cringed at her poor attempt at imitating his accent. On the other side of the door, he probably did, too. «And I miss you, too.»

It was stupid, or, well, Emma-before-Storybrooke would've repeated to herself it was to the point she would believe that lie. Missing him after two days made her feel clingy, but she'd started to listen to her heart more than her mind, and missing him was making her restless.

Listening for any sound proved useless: Killian startled her by opening the door, slowly, carefully, as if he'd hidden a damned kraken in his room.

Emma's eyebrows pinched together, confused.

In all fairness, he didn't seem to be ill, or on the brink of death. Instead, he looked perfectly cozy. And sexy. The teacups clinked on the tray, clearly affected by her tremors. Emma wasn't one to believe she would ever experience the need to jump her boyfriend's bones, but after having sex - no, making _love_ \- with him, it was as if the gates of Heaven had opened in front of her.

«Hello, love.»

 _Damn_ , she exhaled, both in relief and as a way to calm herself. «Hi.» A squeak, that was what her greeting was.

He'd changed back into his pirate attire, leather pants with suspenders hanging from the waistband and making him look sinful. The untucked black shirt with its plunging neckline didn't help.

Her eyes trailed up and up until they met his downcast ones.

Unconsciously, she tilted her head, studying him, searching the reason why he wasn't looking at her and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down in discomfort. There was really nothing different from his usual se- _Oh_.

It was the first time she saw him without his guyliner - or whatever it was called in the Enchanted Forest - and that… made him look younger. No, not just younger: _vulnerable_. It was then that she realized the reason why he had holed up in his room for two days.

A warm sensation pooled in her chest, not pity, of course not, it was something more along the lines of, well, _love_. Killian had opened the door, which meant he was allowing himself to be vulnerable around her. It wasn't the first time she saw this side of him, yet it made her fall for him even more.

Ah, yeah, it was about _bloody_ time she admitted that to herself. To Killian, however, was another matter entirely.

«Tea's getting cold,» Emma blurted out, blush 'til her hairline. _Way to go, Swan_.

A smirk pulled at one corner of her lips. «We decidedly can't let that happen.» There was no colour in his voice, no emotion, but she could _feel_ him tense when she passed beneath his arm when he pushed the door wide open, only to close it when she was inside.

Clearly not knowing when to shut up, Emma went on, rambling with her back to him as she poured the tea. Where was a sleeping curse when you needed it? «Granny told me to inform you she uses only loose leaves to make her teas, she threw away all the tea bags appeared thanks to the curse. There's milk, if you need it. And sugar. How did you drink tea in the Enchanted Forest?»

Emma turned around just then, heart breaking in her chest at the sight of Killian sat on the bed, shoulders slumped in defeat as his forearms rested on his knees, the black fabric of his left sleeve covering his stump.

Carefully, she moved towards him, hand outstretched in front of her. His hair was silky underneath her fingertips, and the audible sigh he let out had her heart clench painfully.

 _Oh, Killian_.

Emma stepped between his spread legs, fingers running through his hair in a soothing way. Within a few, endless minutes, Killian relaxed slightly, forehead resting against her lower abdomen; he looked like a lost soul, now more than ever.

«How hypocritical would I sound if I told you there's no need for you to wear an armor around me?»

Her voice was soft, like a caress, no matter how light she was trying to be when treating such a delicate matter. Surprising her, Killian chuckled humorlessly against her stomach, the sound reverberating through her.

«Just a little, I'm afraid, love.»

Emma hummed; she knew as much. Much like her, Killian may no need his armor around him, but he rather had it. His innuendos, his attire, even his guyliner were all fruit of his centuries-old defense mechanism. And, again, much like her, it would take time for him to be comfortable without it, even just part of it.

Bending slightly to drop a kiss on his head - a gesture she usually received by the very same man she was trying to comfort - Emma stepped away to rummage inside the bag she'd left on the chair next to the dresser where the tea was growing cold. Fortunately, her magic could be useful. Finally.

Once she'd found what she was looking for, Emma made it back to the bed, straddling Killian's thighs in the most innocent of ways, making sure her expression didn't betray any thought of more enjoyable activities.

Clutching the long, thin object in her hand, she used the other to tilt Killian's head upwards slightly so he would look her in the eyes. It amazed her how blue they were: while the make-up did make them stand out, even without it they had the same devastating effect.

«Then I won't tell you not to wear one,» Emma said, picking up the conversation from where she'd left it, «but I want to help you, if you allow me. You… you help me, a lot, there's no denying it. And it's not just that: you are always here for me, even when I convince myself I don't want you around. This time, I want to be the one you can rely on.»

 _Because it's been a long time you had someone in your corner_.

With a small, shy smile, she brought her hand between them, shaking the black pencil back and forth.

At Killian's confused stare, Emma explained: «It's this land's version of your...»

«Kohl.»

«Kohl! I knew that. Well, anyway, this serves the same purpose. It might not be the same, and it's like patching up a bullet hole with a band-aid or something, since it's not progress, it might be like keep giving a drug addict, well, drugs, but-»

He cut her off with a kiss, hand squeezing gently her waist. Surprised, Emma responded to the kiss, melting into it, _tasting_ his desperation.

«You are incredible,» Killian whispered against her lips, brushing her nose with his. Dark eyelashes cast shadows on his high cheekbones: the guyliner didn't add much to the breathtaking effect she always experienced whenever she watched him sleep. As creepy as it sounded, he looked peaceful. Those were the only times Killian allowed himself to abandon all his defences, and she was lucky enough to experience that.

Emma leaned in, resting her forehead against his. «You are beautiful,» she breathed, «and we both know this isn't a way to stroke your ego: it's the simple truth. You are beautiful, Killian Jones, both inside and outside, whether you wear your _kohl_ or not.» _And I love you for that_.

No, this was not the right moment to confess her love to him, not when _Killian_ was the one needing to be comforted. And, somehow, she believed he just _knew_.

They stayed like that for a quantity of time that wasn't probably measurable, even if it was. At one point, when her free hand was toying with the hair at the base of his neck and her senses could perceive only him, Emma heard him exhale.

«I suppose I wouldn't find good agrabahian kohl anytime soon.» His tone was tentative: he probably didn't know how to voice his feelings himself.

She missed the corner of his mouth. «And we can't just have you hide in this room for days to end, can we?»

The way his eyebrows queried on his forehead made her flush red. She slapped him lightly on the shoulder, marvelling herself of how warm he always was even through his clothes.

To ease her discomfort, Killian ducked his head, pressing a kiss on her shoulder, right where she'd slapped him on his own.

«May I?» Emma rasped, breath catching in her throat at the affectionate gesture. After she and Killian had crossed the invisible line - she had, by kissing him the night they'd come back from the past - they had slowly become a regular couple, holding hands in public, _kissing_ in public, going on dates and so much more, but between them, things had changed significantly. In all her life, Emma had never been so intimate with anyone, baring her heart and soul so completely she even left out her insecurities and fears. Killian made her feel that way, and there was something in her heart telling her it was the same for him, too.

When he nodded slightly, the barest hint of a movement, Emma unclasped the pencil and took Killian's chin between her thumb and forefinger, tilting his head slightly so she could trace the underside of his eye with as much perfection as she could muster, the tip of her tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth in a way Killian would later tell her was completely adorable.

The effect wasn't the same, but it was a step in the right direction, or at least she hoped.

Killian waited until she'd closed the pencil before falling backwards onto the bed with a dull thump and dragging her with him.

Emma's giggles filled the room, the pencil clattering on the floor, forgotten for the time being.

-/-

Making kohl from scratch was hell.

Emma Swan, however, was a fighter, and she, much like her boyfriend, loved a challenge. Once she'd decided she wanted to do it, _after_ the chemicals in modern day make-up had started to irritate Killian's eyes to the point he was forced to stop wearing part of his armor and step into the sunlight trying not to fear it as a vampire could.

She'd chosen carefully the day in which she would dip and dry muslin in sandalwood paste all day long - with a book and junk food to take her company - waiting for Killian to take Henry out at sea with Grumpy's boat - borrowing it for real, this time.

Finding a mud lamp hadn't been easy, she'd had to ask the fairies, not trusting whatever artifact she could find in Gold's shop, too afraid it would, what could she know, even conjure a genie. Her mother, who, weirdly enough, seemed to be able to keep a little secret, maybe because _now_ she cared, had helped her with the candle-making. Snow also found castor oil for her, _good_ castor oil, thanks to some of her acquaintances, so maybe Emma had to give her some credit.

Luckily, Emma didn't fuck up the whole "leave a brass vessel over the lamp with a slight gap overnight". She just burnt her fingers when removing the vessel, genius that she was. Her mother aided with that as well, giving her an ointment for the burns. And the clarified cow's butter, courtesy of Granny, or rather, her supplier.

The wooden box, instead, was all Emma. She'd created it with her magic, the lid engraved with a ship on it. It wasn't often that she was proud of herself, but today, today sure as hell she was.

Giving the homemade kohl to Killian, however, was another matter entirely.

It wasn't like Emma to be fidgety, so twirling the box in the big pockets of her woolen cardigan was an unusual sight. Even if he didn't say a thing, Killian had surely picked her restlessness up.

They were watching a movie in the loft after they'd put baby Leo to bed so her parents would have a nice evening out and Henry was sleeping upstairs. A box of pizza and two beers were resting on the coffee table next to Emma's socks-covered feet - heaven forbid Killian propped _his_ feet on it, neat freak as he was.

At one point, right as Westley was explaining in what consisted his torture, Killian sighed, easily pulling her down so she would lie on his lap. Just like every other time she found herself in that position, Killian started to run his fingers through her hair. Surprisingly enough, the strands never caught in his rings.

«Do you want to tell me what is troubling you?»

His tone was low, calming, even, his question needing an equally calm verbal response instead of the sigh Emma let out before pulling out the box.

There was a flash of alarm crossing his features before he schooled them, quirking a brow. «Woah, lass, I'm flattered. A man likes to be courted, and I thought it would be a bit more romantic, you are quite fond of these movies, after all-»

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she slapped him on the shoulder playfully. The smile she was biting back slipping from her control. «Idiot,» she muttered through her giggles. He bent over her, kissing her nose.

«I tried to make kohl from scratch,» Emma confessed in a barely audible whisper. «We are both trying to help the other lay down their armor, me letting go of my red leather jacket, my _walls_ , and you of your kohl and innuendos, of _your_ walls. But letting go isn't easy, surely we can agree on that, and maybe I should've asked Ariel if she wanted to take a journey to Agrabah but-»

Once more, he silenced her in a kiss. In all honesty, Emma couldn't say she minded in the slightest.

«I love you,» she breathed, looking up at him with shining green eyes. _This_ was the right time.

Killian smirked down at her. «I know.»

 _Star Wars_ was definitely banned from movie nights.

«Shut up and kiss me, scoundrel.»

«As you wish.»

 _The Princess Bride_ stayed.


End file.
